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ELLEN SEYMOUR; 


on, 


“THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


BT 


MRS. SAVILE SHEPHERD, 


(ponMERLT ANXE HOUEDITCH,)^ 


Author of “ Hymns adapted to the Comprehension of Young Minds 


Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust Him for His grace ; 
Behind a frowning providence, 

He hides a smiling face. 

His purposes are ripening fast, 
Unfolding every hour; 

The Bud may have a bitter taste. 
But sweet will be the Flower. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

J. W. MOORE, 193 CHESTNUT STREET. 
18.50. 



Q!ff~ 

fh leu 

2.0^ Iff f 


1SA.AC A^UMEAD, PRINTER. 


PREFACE. 


The beautiful lines of our Christian Poet in the 
title page of this little work are selected as descrip- 
tive of the object aimed at in its contents. To 
illustrate the truth they contain, under a form in- 
teresting to the young, has been the endeavour of 
the Author; and although the characters them- 
selves are fictitious, she trusts the incidents con- 
nected with, and the sentiments and principles 
attributed to them, will be found according to truth 
and nature. In this attempt the Author has con- 
fined herself to those elementary points of Christian 
belief, on which it is presumed the orthodox of all 
denominations are nearly agreed ; but while’seek- 
ing to avoid everything of a sectarian tendency, 
she has, according to the measure of her ability, 
endeavoured unhesitatingly to expose some of those 
popular delusions of the day, by which the suscep- 
tible imagination of the young is most liable to be 
ensnared. Should this humble effort, through the 
effectual influence of the Divine blessing, be made 


IV 


PREFACE. 


instrumental in only one instance to the awakening 
of the careless, confirming the wavering, comfort- 
ing the sorrowing, or delivering the unwary from 
the snares of error, the Author would feel her end 
accomplished. To Him, therefore, who is able to 
make the feeblest means subservient to the mighti- 
est results, she, with many prayers for His bless- 
ing, commits this little Work — the fruit, in some 
degree, of her own experience of the truth con- 
veyed in the lines she has chosen for her motto. 


ELLEN SEYMOUR. 


In the dark parlour of a small lodging in one of 
the inferior streets of our vast metropolis sat two 
ladies, whose appearance bespoke that they had not 
long been accustomed to the style of abject mean- 
ness by which they were surrounded. The elder 
of the two was engaged in writing a letter; the 
younger was seated at the window, her wmrk had 
fallen from her hand, and to a casual observer she 
might have seemed occupied only in counting the 
heavy drops of rain as they fell in quick succession 
on the pavement below. But a far different object 
fixed the attention of Ellen Seymour; she was 
watching with breathless anxiety the rapid move- 
ments of the postman, as he hurried from door to 
door. At length her’ fate was decided, for he pass- 
ed by the door of the little lodging. Ellen fell 
gently back in her chair with a look of hopeless 
resignation. Her mother looked up, and read their 
mutual disappointment in her daughter’s counte- 
nance. 


1 * 


G 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ No letter, my love ?” said she in a faint voice ; 
“Well, we must still hope that all is going on fa- 
vourably.” 

“ No, dearest mamma, I cannot hope that any 
longer, for you know papa decidedly said, that if 
we did not hear from him to-day, it would be be- 
cause he had failed to obtain the situation — and I 
feel that it is so.” 

A jong silence ensued ; at last Ellen rose from her 
chair, and throwing her arms around her mother’s 
neck, while she buried her face in her bosom; 
“ Mamma,” said she, “ dearest mamma, you must 
let me, you must indeed” 

“ What ? my beloved child,’’ said her mother, in 
a tone of anxious inquiry. 

“ Why, accept the situation at Mrs. Golding’s.” 

Poor Mrs. Seymour ! At these words all her re- 
maining stock of fortitude seemed to give way, 
and she could only answer with her tears. 

Our readers will not be surprised at Mrs. Sey- 
mour’s distress, when we have given them a sketch 
of her history. 

Mrs. Seymour was the wife of a merchant who, 
having been unfortunate in business, had failed and 
been declared bankrupt. He had, however, passed 
honourably through the necessary law proceedings. 


THE nUD AND THE FLOWER 


7 


and was now in search of a situation by which to 
procure a maintenance for his family. Mr. Sey- 
mour’s failure had excited much compassion, be- 
cause it was believed to be less owing to his own 
imprudence 'than to the treachery of a friend in 
whom he had confided. Great pity was also felt 
for his amiable wife, and elegant and accomplished 
daughter. A small subscription, to meet their im- 
mediate necessities, had been raised for them by 
sympathizing friends, but with all the economy 
they could use, this little stock was rapidly dimin- 
ishing, and still the dark future lay before them in 
all its terrible uncertainty. 

Ellen Seymour, the only child of this unfortu- 
nate couple, had been reared, if not in the lap of 
luxury, at least in the enjoyment of every comfort 
which an ample competence could procure. She 
was about nineteen, and her education, which had 
been conducted with the utmost care, was just 
completed. From the commencement of her fa- 
ther’s misfortunes, Ellen had determined to turn her 
talents to account, and had requested friends to 
look out for her a situation as governess. After 
much inquiry, one only presented itself; — it was in 
the family of a Mr. Golding, who having begun the 
world with nothing, had realized a large fortune by 


8 


KLhElV SEVMOUR; OR, 


successful mercantile speculations. This gentle- 
man’s whole life having been spent in acquiring 
riches, he was accustomed to judge of everything 
by the standard of the money market, and to re- 
gard as worse than useless whatever did not im- 
mediately turn to the production of wealth. He 
entertained a profound contempt for all who were 
less opulent or less fortunate than himself ; indeed, 
with him to be poor or unsuccessful was a crime 
for which he could show no toleration. Mrs. Gold- 
ing was a meddling, talkative woman, in whose 
mind the contemplation of her husband’s riches pro- 
duced no small degree of self-importance. She 
was extremely fond of show, dressed in the height 
of the fashion, and in the most gaudy and expensive 
manner ; at the same time, she considered herself 
very religious, because she had abjured the theatre, 
and regularly attended the ministry of a popular 
evangelical preacher. She differed from her hus- 
band in this respect, that she professed to feel the 
utmost commiseration for persons in distress, sub- 
scribed largely to religious societies and philan- 
thropic institutions, and frequently hinted at the 
extent of her private charities. She seemed to 
have a sort of monomania for interfering in other 
people’s affairs; in times of domestic calamity she 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


9 


would introduce herself into houses under pretence 
of rendering assistance, but in reality to gratify her 
own insatiable curiosity, and to get rid of some of 
her surplus activity, which, now that she was a 
fine lady, could not always find sufficient employ- 
ment at home. 

The family of this well-matched pair consisted 
of two sons and three daughters ; the young gentle- 
men were placed at one of the great public schools, 
but the young ladies were educated at home under 
a governess ; and to supply the place of one who 
had just been dismissed because she was not suffi- 
ciently accomplished, had been, through the inter- 
est of a mutual friend, proposed to Ellen Seymour. 

Poor Mrs. Seymour was, as we have seen, over- 
whelmed at the thought of parting with her darling 
child, but no alternative presenting itself, she at 
length yielded to Ellen’s entreaties, and a definitive 
message having been sent to Mrs. Golding, the 
splendid carriage of that lady soon stopped before 
the door of the humble lodging. 

When Mrs. Golding had fairly succeeded in set- 
tling the folds of her magnificent satin dress, for 
whose ample dimensions the small parlour scarcely 
aflbrded accommodation, she began in a deplor- 
ing tone of voice to condole with Mrs. Seymour on 


10 


RLLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


her altered circumstances. “ It is quite impossible 
for me to express, Mrs. Seymour, what I have felt 
for you ever since I heard of your misfortunes; and 
it gives me such infinite pleasure to be able to as- 
sist your daughter in her laudable desire to do 
something for herself. This is what I was saying 
to Mr. Golding only this morning, that when one 
sees people willing to exert themselves, one feels so 
differently towards them. Indeed, all the circum- 
stances of your case are so unlike the common run 
of things of this kind; and this is what I am always 
telling Mr. Golding, who, of course, from his high 
standing in the mercantile world, is naturally most 
particular not to countenance anything in the least 
dishonourable. But I can assure you he always 
exonerates Mr. Seymour, and as to myself, I make 
a point of giving the right version of the affair in 
all companies where it is mentioned, though, in- 
deed, there seems to be but one opinion respecting 
it.” Having concluded this, as she considered it, 
appropriate speech, every sentence of which in- 
flicted torture on the refined and sensitive mind of 
Mrs. Seymour, this loquacious lady next proceeded 
to impart to her auditors a few of her ideas on the 
subject of education. “ I am most anxious. Miss 
Seymour, that my girls should have a first-rate 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


11 


education, and therefore I consider it indispensable, 
in which I am sure you will agree with me, that 
they should learn as many things as possible — no- 
thing like laying in early a stock of useful informa- 
tion.” To this last proposition Ellen signified her 
assent. “Not that I approve of their being kept 
too long at their studies ; — next to health of mind 
health of body should be considered, but I doubt 
not you well know how to arrange all this, though 
it is always well to understand one another before- 
hand, and as you are young, and have not had ex- 
perience, of course a few hints will be useful.” As 
Mrs. Golding was, what she termed, out of a gover- 
ness, she begged Miss Seymour to name an early 
day for coming to her, and the following evening 
was finally determined on for Ellen’s entering on 
the duties of her new situation. 

The three Miss Goldings, Ellen Seymour’s future 
pupils, were of the respective ages of fourteen, 
thirteen, and eight. Augusta, the eldest, was a 
proud, haughty girl, of cold, reserved manners. 
This young lady thought she showed her gentility 
by treating with indifference or disdain, if not with 
downright rudeness, every one whom she consi- 
dered in any respect as her inferior. Lavinia, the 
, second daughter, was less repulsive in her manners 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


12 

than her elder sister ; she was sometimes even 
good-natured and obliging, but she was also pert 
and self-conceited, and, owing to a defective edu- 
cation, possessed but few of those qualities which 
compose the character of a well-bred young per- 
son. As to the youngest, Camilla, or Cam, as she 
was usually called, she was an unmitigated speci- 
men of a spoiled child of the most disagreeable 
class ; that is to say, she was rude, vulgar, and sel- 
fish, by turns the plague and the plaything of the 
whole family. One very unamiable trait in the 
character of these sisters was, that they were con- 
stantly at variance among themselves. Between 
the two elder there existed a spirit of rivalry, which 
displayed itself in constant petty squabbles, and 
strivings for superiority, while Miss Cam took 
every opportunity of showing that she held both 
her sisters and their authority in supreme con- 
tempt. 

“ So ma has come back, and she has hired Miss 
Seymour to be our new governess,” cried Cam, 
bursting into her sister’s apartment. 

“ Hired,’* repeated Augusta, “ how vulgarly you 
talk, child ; engaged, you should say.” 

“Well, I am sure,” rejoined Cam; “I heard ma 
say the other day she had hired a cook, and a cook 
and a governess is all one as to that.” 


THE BL'U AND THE FLOWER. 


13 


“ La ! only think,” said Lavinia ; “ I don’t think 
papa ’ll be best pleased though, for she’s a bankrupt’s 
daughter, and papa hates bankrupts, he says they’re 
all rogues.” 

“ Yes, but the Seymours’ is a very different case 
from the generality,” said Augusta, “ I heard papa 
say so myself; but then she must be horridly poor, 
and I wonder mamma would have anything to do 
with such poverty-stricken people — it isn't respect- 
able.” t 

t 

“ Mamma docs it out of charity,” said Lavinia ; 
“ I heard her tell Mrs. Thompson so yesterday. 
She said Miss Seymour was too young to be our 
governess, but that she meant to take her out of 
charity, to keep her from starving.” 

“ I wish mamma had found some other way of 
bestowing her charity,” replied Augusta ; “ I wanted 
her so much to have lady Battersea’s governess — 
it would have given us some consequence to have 
one from a titled family.” 

“ La, Augusta, how you are always thinking 
about titles, and consequence, and all that — now I 
don’t care a straw about such things, if she’s only 
good-natured, which I dare say she will be, because 
it’s quite a favour of mamma to take her.” 

“ Yes, that’s just like your vulgar notions,” re- 
2 


14 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


turned Augusta, “ however, one thing is, the Sey- 
mours are a very good family, for Mr. Seymour’s 
first cousin is a baronet, so it would all do well 
enough if they were, not so dreadfully poor ; and 
as papa says, never have anything to do with poor 
people, if you can help it.” 

“ I don’t know, then, how you are to help it when 
you want a governess, for all governesses are poor ; 
and certainly Miss Seymour wouldn’t be a go- 
verness if her father hadn’t lost all his money,” 
said Lavinia. 

The following evening, after an aflecting parting 
with her almost heart-broken mother, Ellen Sey- 
mour set off for her new destination. She reached 
this abode of opulence about tea-time, and was 
immediately ushered into the splendid drawing- 
room, where she found the whole family waiting 
her arrival. She was received by Mr. Golding 
with pompous stiffness, and by his lady with a vast 
parade of condescending kindness. The manners 
of the two elder young ladies presented the oppo- 
site extremes of cold disdain and awkward familiar- 
ity, while Miss Cam stood with her finger in her 
mouth staring at “ the new governess,” and no per- 
suasions could induce her to return Miss Seymour’s 
friendly greeting. Mrs. Golding having professed 


TflE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


15 


herself shocked at her youngest daughter’s shyness 
— at the same time predicting that it would not 
last long, they all sat down to tea, during which 
the aforesaid acute prediction received its full 
accomplishment. 

After tea, Mr. Golding left the room ; and Mrs. 
Golding insisting on Ellen’s taking a seat on the 
sofa, seated herself beside her, and proceeded to 
pour into her ear a tide of opinions upon various 
subjects, but particularly on those two most impor- 
tant ones of religion and education. As to the 
young people, their presence at the other end of the 
room was no otherwise notified, than by their loud 
whispers, and ill-suppressed giggles, which occa- 
sionally exploded in bursts of laughter. When their 
hour for retiring arrived. Miss Augusta marched 
out of the room, scarcely deigning to notice either 
her mother or Miss Seymour; while the younger 
ones effected their retreat in a disorderly manner, 
banging the door after them with no gentle hand. 
Mrs. Golding apologized for her daughters’ be- 
haviour, by saying, that Augusta was “ very re- 
served,” and the others had “ such spirits.” “ Be- 
sides,” continued she, “you sec. Miss Seymour, 
my plan is to allow my girls perfect liberty when 
out of school — it is best for pupils and teachers — 


IG 


E1,LKN SEYMOUR; OR, 


therefore you understand, that as soon as lessons 
are over, you need give yourself no farther concern 
about them, which is a privilege, I believe I may 
venture to say, enjoyed in very few families besides 
my own.” Having thus given the finishing stroke 
to the subject of education, this loquacious lady 
adroitly resumed the thread of her discourse on 
the topic of religion, which had been interrupted by 
the hasty departure of the young ladies : — “ I think. 
Miss Seymour, you were telling me when the girls 
left the room, that you had not been in the habit of 
attending a Gospel ministry ?” Ellen hesitated, for 
she could not recollect having made any such state- 
ment. “ Ah, I see,” continued Mrs. Golding, with 
a smile of superior knowledge, “ you do not under- 
stand our language ; but as you told me you always 
attended Dr. Bishop’s church, it comes to the same 
thing, for he does not preach the Gospel, or know 
any more about it than a post.” 

Ellen looked surprised. “ Indeed,” said she, “ I 
know him to be a very worthy man, and learned he 
is universally considered, and I have always under- 
stood he was orthodox.” 

“ Orthodox ! Oh, my dear Miss Seymour, but 
is he spiritually enlightened ? that’s the question. 
W ell, on Sunday I hope you will hear my paragon, 


THE nun AND THE FLOWER. 


17 


Mr. Chesterfield, and then you will see the differ- 
ence between a faithful minister who sets forth 
the doctrines of grace, and one of your merely 
orthodox preachers.” Mrs. Golding then went on 
to deplore her husband’s want of unison with her 
in this matter, and his lamentable absence of spiri- 
tual taste and discernment, in hearing an uncon- 
verted clergyman, just because he “ would stick to 
the walls of his parish church.” 

Fatigued and depressed, Ellen was glad to escape 
from Mrs. Golding’s incessant volubility, to the 
retirement of her own room. Her first impulse on 
finding herself alone, was to throw herself into a 
chair, and, hiding her face with her hands, to give 
vent to her long stifled feelings in a flood of tears. 
A crowd of painful recollections rushed upon her 
mind — she thought of her mother, alone in her 
desolate lodging — of her father, wearied with un- 
successful efforts to obtain the means of mere 
existence — of herself, in a situation entirely new to 
her, among people with w'hom she could not feel 
any sympathy, and then to think, and all this was 
only the beginning of sorrows, and that its con- 
tinuance might be stretched through the term of 
her whole life ; — these were sad reflections, and well 
calculated to crush a spirit of a sterner mould than 
. 2 ^' 


18 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Ellen Seymour’s. Not that she was deficient in 
fortitude, but there are certain trials, which have 
a tendency to produce the same depressing effect 
upon the mental system, as does a particular class 
of disease induce in the physical ; and among the 
number of the former we may, perhaps, reckon 
poverty, with all its concomitant circumstances, as 
one of the most sure and efficient. Many a young 
person may have been accustomed in imagination 
to regard the loss of property rather in the light of 
a romantic incident, than of a serious evil, in- 
volving, probably, no greater sacrifice than the 
exchange of her father’s commodious mansion, and 
extensive grounds, for some small, but enchanting 
cottage, which her fancy pictures as embowered 
in foliage, and covered with roses and jessamine ; 
while she herself, the interesting victim of un- 
merited misfortune, attired with elegant simplicity, 
and accompanied by some chosen friend, roams 
about amid the fragrance of flowers, the song of 
birds, and the murmur of waterfalls, or tunes her 
harp to plaintive strains expressive of her exquisite 
distresses. But how would this delicate and sensi- 
tive being shrink, even in idea, from the unrefined 
realities actually consequent upon reduced pecu- 
niary resources — the close, ugly, and inconvenient 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


19 


house — or the mean, dingy lodging, with its low 
ceilings, narrow passages, and perpendicular stair- 
case — the menial offices to be performed — the faded, 
shabby apparel — and, worse than all these, the 
neglect^of former friends, the sneers of the world, 
the affected pity of some, and the unmeaning advice 
of others ; or, perhaps, a combination of the whole 
in some situation of dependence, where the benefits 
conferred in the provision of what is called a 
‘ home’ are supposed to compensate for any amount 
of privation or annoyance. 

Ellen Seymour, though possessing abundant sen- 
sibility, had none of the sentimentality of which we 
have been speaking; the days of her prosperity had 
been spent in the acquisition of useful knowledge, 
and elegant accomplishments ; she had never been 
in the habit of reading novels, nor of imagining 
herself in the romantic and painfully interesting 
circumstances described in works of that class; 
neither had the thought of personal sorrow and 
trial, especially of a pecuniary nature, been familiar 
to her mind. The blow which levelled her fortunes 
with the dust had come so suddenly and unexpect- 
edly, that all the energies of Ellen’s active and in- 
telligent mind had been called into action to meet 
the pressing exigencies of the moment; while every 


20 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


feeling of her soul was absorbed in anxiety on her 
parents’ account, and particularly on that of her 
father, for whose fair fame she dreaded even the 
shadow of an imputation. Her desires were con- 
centrated upon one object — the payment in full of 
the creditors, and to contribute to this desired end 
she thought no sacrifice either too great or too small. 
She not only parted without a sigh of regret with 
her books and ti'inkets, her splendid harp, and 
piano-forte, but not the most trifling article of ele- 
gance or convenience would she retain, though 
urged to do so, even by the creditors themselves. 
What then was the bitterness of her disappointment 
to find, that after all these sacrifices, the required 
sum could not be raised — some thousands were 
still wanting to complete the discharge of the 
debts, and though hgally acquitted of all farther 
demands, neither Ellen nor her parents felt, that in 
honour, justice, or equity, they were absolved from 
satisfying those demands to the full, if ever the 
pow'er to do so were afibrded them. A farther idea 
now took possession of Ellen’s mind, it was that of 
earning her livelihood by her own exertions, assist- 
ing in tlie maintenance of her parents, at least until 
her father could procure employment, and event- 
ually contributing something towards the liquida- 


TUB BUD AND THE FBOWEIl^ 


21 


tion ot the remaining debt. This was a gigantic 
scheme, but having once planned, she determined 
on its immediate execution. With these sentiments 
she entered on her engagement at Mrs. Golding’s, 
nor must wc think of her as if she wavered in her 
purpose, because she keenly felt the separation 
from her parents, and the difficulties of her new 
position. Neither had Ellen, at the period of which 
we speak, any higher sustaining principle than that 
which is supplied by the strength of a well-regulated 
mind, conscious of its own rectitude and integrity 
in the performance of a painful and solemn duty. 
Neither she nor her parents could with truth be 
classed among the number of that little flock who, 
redeemed by the blood, are desirous of walking in 
the steps of a crucified Saviour. They were con- 
fessedly “ of the world,” and were only distin- 
guished from others by the amiableness of their 
manners, the exalted tone of their morals, and their 
respectful attention to the outward forms of reli- 
gion. To whaf may be denominated evangelical 
truth, Ellen Seymour was, therefore, an entire 
stranger ; true, she knew that she in common with 
the rest of mankind was a sinner, but of the utter 
depravity of her nature, and of her need of the 
atoning blood of the Saviour, she had no definite 


22 


ELLEV SEYMOUR; OR, 


idea, — nothing, indeed, could be more vague than 
her notions upon all subjects connected with the 
distinguishing doctrines of the gospel. 

Her education had, as we have before observed, 
been most carefully conducted; while no pains had 
been spared to insure the cultivation of her talents, 
no less had been the attention bestowed on her moral 
training, and the result was, as might have been 
expected, the formation of a character exhibiting 
one of the most perfect specimens of natural beauty 
and attractiveness.' Happy in herself, the delight 
of her parents and all around her, Ellen’s life had 
been, till within the last few months, one bright 
scene of uninterrupted felicity. Towards God, as 
the author of her existence, and all her blessings, 
her heart went forth in feelings of grateful adora- 
tion. She was an ardent lover of the beauties of 
nature, and in the loveliness of creation she dis- 
covered, as she imagined, the love of God the 
Creator, but here she stopped. - She never thought 
of the infinite love of God, and of his almighty 
power and holiness as displayed in the incarnation, 
sufferings, death, and resurrection, of his only be- 
gotten Son. No; the history of redemption she* 
had been taught to acknowledge as an article of 
belief, and to view it as conferring some inestimable 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 23 

benefit on the whole of the human race, in which 
she believed herself, as a matter of course, included, 
but of a personal and individual interest in the 
great plan of salvation she neither felt nor knew 
the necessity. But now that poverty and affliction 
had cast their shadows on Ellen’s hitherto sunny 
path, she began to feel the want of something on 
W'hich her soul could stay itself amid the gloom 
which surrounded her. The God whom, in her 
days of prosperity, she had imagined she adored 
as the God of love and beneficence, no longer 
appeared to her in this character when speaking 
from behind the dark cloud of adversity. Oppressed 
by these feelings, yet dreading to entertain hard 
thoughts of her Maker, Ellen threw herself on 
her knees, and besought Him to look upon her 
afflicted parents, to relieve their wants, and comfort 
their hearts ; also to behold with pity her own 
forlorn and desolate condition, and to strengthen 
her for the discharge of the arduous duties she had 
undertaken. After having thus poured out her 
heart at the footstool of Divine mercy, Ellen felt 
much relieved, and retired to rest with that con- 
sciousness of peace and security, which seldom fails 
to reward the feeblest or most ignorant attempt, 
if only it be sincere, to seek from God himself those 


24 


EI.LEX SEVMOUR; OR, 


things which we need. And it was no small 
measure of strength and wisdom that Ellen needed 
in her new situation. She found her pupils both 
ill-informed, and idly inclined ; possessing a few 
showy accomplishments, and a smattering of almost 
everything, — but without any real acquaintance 
with even a single branch of useful knowledge. 
They had no taste for literature, and it seemed im- 
possible to awaken in them any desire Jor informa- 
tion; their studies were gone through in a listless 
manner; and they appeared to long for the time, 
which was for ever to emancipate them both from 
books and teachers. We speak of the two elder 
ones, for as to Miss Cam, she seemed determined to 
resist every effort to instil one idea into her mind, 
and in this determination she was seconded by 
her mamma, who disapproved of early application 
as prejudicial to health ; so that at eight years old, 
Miss Cam was left in the undisturbed enjoyment of 
rude health and profound ignorance. At the same 
time, Mrs. Golding hinted, that there were ways 
and means known to experienced governesses, by 
which the rudiments of all kinds of learning could 
be imparted, without any effort on the part of 
the pupil; adding, that no child, she was sure, 
would be more willing to be taught than her Ca?n, 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


25 


if only the right method of instructing her were 
discovered. 

In the society too that she met at the Goldings’, 
there was nothing congenial to the refined, though 
simple taste of Ellen Seymour. It was generally 
composed of persons more distinguished for their 
knowledge of business, and eagerness in the acqui- 
sition of wealth, than for their love of literature, or 
intellectual attainments. To these, of course, there 
were some exceptions, and, among others, a young 
lady of the name of Agnes Beaumont particularly 
attracte<? Ellen’s attention. Agnes Beaumont was 
about twenty-five years of age, she was sensible 
and accomplished, and possessed a soft refinement 
of manner which was extremely fascinating. From 
their first introduction, Agnes and Ellen seemed to 
conceive a mutually favourable impression of each 
other, which farther intercourse contributed to 
strengthen. This growing intimacy was viewed 
with a jealous eye by Mrs. Golding, with whom 
Miss Beaumont was no favourite; while Miss Au- 
gusta and Miss Lavinia tossed their heads, and 
laughed and whispered together, in an insolently 
significant manner. 

But we must retrace our steps a little. From 
what we have before recorded, our readers will 


3 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


2G 

readily suppose, that Ellen’s initiation into her 
professional duties was far from being a pleasant 
or easy task. It is true she had much spare 
time, as, in accordance with Mrs. Golding’s plan 
of education, she had nothing to do with her pupils 
out of school hours; but the difficulty was, how to 
dispose of this time with advantage to herself, 
without giving offence to her patroness. Mrs. 
Golding was at first imperative in her desires, that 
Ellen should accompany her in her walks, drives, 
and visits; she would insist on her bein^ present 
at all her evening parties, and was officious in in- 
troducing her to the notice of her friends and ac- 
quaintance. She was particularly anxious that 
Ellen should be duly impressed with the various 
excellencies of her “ paragon” of preachers, Mr. 
Chesterfield ; and Ellen, no less anxiously than 
herself, looked forward to the Sunday, when she 
was, for the first time within her recollection, to hear 
“a Gospel sermon.” She had pictured to herself 
the venerable appearance of this ambassador for 
Christ, his benign aspect, and grave deportment ; 
she was, therefore, much surprised to see ascend the 
pulpit, a handsome young man, with a complacent 
air, a profusion of well-arranged curls, and a hand 
of delicate form and whiteness, which was displayed 


THE nUD AND THE FLOWER. 


27 


to the greatest advantage by the alternate flourish 
of a cambric handkerchief, and the application of 
an eye-glass, through which he leisurely surveyed 
the congregation, before commencing his discourse. 
His manner loo, she thought rather theatrical ; but 
though not prepossessed by his appearance, she was 
pleased with his sermon, which was on the love of 
God to his believing people, and in which there 
was much that was both instructive to the con- 
science and affecting to the heart. Mrs. Golding, 
who was delighted at Ellen’s approval of her reve- 
rend favourite, immediately determined on follow- 
ing up the favourable impression, by inviting Mr. 
Chesterfield to preside at a “ religious party,” 
which was to take place at her house, one evening 
of the ensuing week. “ Mr. Chesterfield has the 
most wonderful gift for expounding the Scriptures,” 
said Mrs. Golding; “really, I think his expositions 
are, if possible, superior to his sermons.” The im- 
portant evening at length arrived, and when Ellen 
entered the drawing-room, it was filled with com- 
pany. As she had understood that this assembly 
was convened for religious purposes, she was sur- 
prised at the fashionable style of the dress, and at 
the light lone of the conversation. One lady only, 
beside herself, presented a striking contrast to the 


28 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


rest, and this was Agnes Beaumont, whom we 
have before introduced to our readers. The pre- 
sence of Mr. Chesterfield himself, seemed rather to 
increase, than diminish the general hilarity; and 
Ellen listened in vain for the spiritual conversa- 
tion, which she had supposed would proceed from 
the lips of one who had been represented to her as 
• an oracle of Christian wisdom, and a pattern of 
holiness and good works. It is true that subjects 
connected with religion were not altogether for- 
gotten : the merits of new publications, of popular 
preachers, and religious societies, were discussed 
with much animation ; and, in particular, great in- 
terest was expressed in a new missionary society, 
which was in progress of formation, for the pur- 
pose of evangelizing a remote nation of reputed 
cannibals, whose chief had visited this country, 
and was pronounced by one of the young ladies 
to be “ the most interesting creature she had ever 
beheld.” But nothing of all this came up to the 
idea which Ellen had formed to herself, of what 
would compose the theme of conversation, in a 
meeting of persons, professedly come together for 
mutual religious edification; and she thought she 
could read, even in the habitually-resigned expres- 
sion of Agnes Beaumont’s Madonna-like counte- 


THE BUD AND TFIE FLOWER. 


29 


nance, a similar feeling to her own. The ceremony 
of tea over, music was proposed, a few songs were 
sung, but these were speedily superseded by hymns 
and chants, on Mr. Chesterfield’s expressing his 
preference for sacred music ; and this part of the 
evening was concluded, by Miss Beaumont’s sing- 
ing one of Keble’s hymns, in so exquisitely pathetic 
a style, as to aficct Ellen Seymour even to tears. 
Mrs. Golding then requested Mr. Chesterfield, “ to 
favour them with one of his delightful expositions;” 
and that gentleman having acceded to her request, 
the company were soon ranged round the room, 
Bibles were produced, and the busy hum of con- 
versation subsided into attentive, silence. Mr. 
Chesterfield chose for his subject the 3d chap, of 
St. John’s Gospel, dwelling particularly on justifi- 
cation by faith, and the necessity of the new birth, 
from verses 3 to 17. Ellen was again deeply in- 
terested, and she felt a power in divine truth of 
which she had never before been sensible. An ap- 
propriate extemporaneous prayer concluded the 
evening, and the company separated. < 

The next morning at breakfast, Mrs. Golding 
said, “ Well, Miss Seymour, I am so delighted 
that you are pleased with Mr. Chesterfield, though 
indeed T don’t know how you could help it, for he 
3 * 


30 


EI,LEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


certainly has a most wonderful gift for exposition, 
though that is nothing to what he is on the platform, 
as you’ll say when you have heard him at the mis- 
sionary meeting to-morrow.” 

“ La, rna !” cried Lavinia, “ what I would give 
to see that love of a cannibal chief, that Miss Jack- 
son was talking about.” 

“ Then you’ll not see him,” answered her elder 
sister, “ for he has left the country long ago; but 
what is better than all the cannibal chiefs in the 
country is, that Lord Battersea is to take the chair 
at the meeting, and that will bring plenty of fash- 
ionable people there, else I shouldn’t care to go, I 
can tell you.” 

“ Very true, Augusta,” replied her mother, “ and 
now I think of it. I’ll take care to let old Mrs. 
Wigton know ihat^ for I have no doubt she would 
not only attend the meeting, but subscribe hand- 
somely too, if she thought it was supported by 
people of quality.” 

“Mamma,” said Cam, in a whisper loud enough 
to be heard by all, “ what is the matter with Miss 
Seymour, she is looking so-grave?” 

“Am I?” said Ellen, forcing a smile, “I was 
only thinking of that beautiful chapter which was 
read last night, and of some of the striking remarks 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


31 


that were made upon it. These subjects are all so 
new to me, that I find they furnish materials for 
continual meditation and inquiry.” 

“ Oh, yes, no doubt,” replied Mrs. Golding, “ it 
is all, as you say, so new; I felt just as, you do 
when I first attended Mr. Chesterfield’s ministry ; 
but that wears off after a time, and one seems to 
get into the way of it one scarcely knows how.” 

Ellen made no reply ; she could not, for she felt 
she was among persons who were incapable of 
understanding her. Her mind was just awakening, 
as it were, out of a dream, to the realities of eternal 
things, and nothing did she so much dread, as that 
these impressions should, to use Mrs. Golding’s 
phrase, “ wear off.” She felt lonely and forsaken, 
for even Mr. Chesterfield, who was a constant 
visitor at the house, scarcely noticed her, and never 
addressed to her any remarks calculated to draw 
out her feelings on religious subjects. “ How is it,” 
thought Ellen, “ that a person, who can preach 
with such earnestness on the importance of hea- 
venly things, and who evinces such interest for the 
conversion of savages and cannibals in the most 
remote regions of the globe, can yet appear utterly 
careless about the spiritual condition of one whom 
he is constantly meeting, and who is panting for 


32 


ELLEN SEYMOtTR ; OR, 


guidance and instruction in the way of righteous- 
ness V’ 

If Ellen felt perplexed how to answer this ques- 
tion, she was still more bewildered, when she ask- 
ed herself, how Mr. Chesterfield could spend so 
much of his time in the society of Mrs. Golding, 
with whom, she was sure, he had not an idea in 
common; while his apparent friendship was really 
detrimental to the best interests of that mistaken 
lady, by helping to confirm her in the false notions 
she entertained of her superior attainments in the 
Divine life. 

Weeks and monlhs passed away, and still Ellen 
was as far off as ever from arriving at any satis- 
factory conclusion on these, and other perplexing 
points, when, one day, a favourable opportunity 
offering, she ventured to ojien her mind on the 
subject of her dilliculties to her friend Agnes Beau- 
mont. Agnes heard her with the deepest atten- 
tion, and expressed the warmest interest in her 
trials. “Ah,” said she, “ these are just the anxie- 
ties which exercise thousands of hearts, when they 
forsake the Ark of the Church for the troubled 
waters of uncertain dogmas.” 

“ But I have not forsaken the Church,” replied 
Ellen in a tone of alarm. 


THE BUD AND THE FJ.OWER. 


33 


“No, you are still within her walls, and that 
alone is an unspeakable mercy; but then I fear lest 
you should be beguiled of your privileges by listen- 
ing to the opinions of fallible men, instead of giving 
heed to the unerring voice of the Church.” 

“ If I only knew that I were a partaker of grace, 
that I were born again, I should not have an anxi- 
ety,” said Ellen earnestly. 

“ My dear Ellen,” said Agnes Beaumont, look- 
ing at her with unfeigned surprise, “why, what 
are you talking of? You, a member of our holy, 
catholic Church, and not born again ! Surely you 
forget the nature and efficacy of the Sacrament of 
Baptism.” 

“ But you do not mean to say, Agnes, that I was 
born again, or regenerated in my Baptism ?” 

“ Certainly I do ; nor need we be afraid to con- 
fess, what the Church so unhesitatingly affirms,” 
replied Agnes. 

“But Mr. Chesterfield so completely disavows 
this as the Scripture doctrine, or even as the doc- 
trine of the Prayer-Book.” 

“Very possibly,” returned Agnes, “and see 
what is the consequence of his substituting his own 
speculative notions for the sound teaching of the 
Church ; your mind is perplexed and agitated on 


34 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


points on which you ought not to have the shadow 
of a doubt. How different in this respect is niy 
state from yours ! I have no tormenting uncer- 
tainties, no disquieting apprehensions — and why ? 
Because I have simple but firm faith in the Divine 
appointments of our Church, in the sacred autho- 
rity of the Priesthood, and in the saving efficacy 
of her Sacraments. As a member of this holy, 
catholic Church, I know that I have all things ne- 
cessary to life and godliness; it only remains for 
me so to use these privileges, that by walking in 
the way of righteousness and true holiness, I may 
finally obtain that crown of glory which is pro- 
mised to all who diligently seek it.” 

It is not our intention to record all the errone- 
ous statements, and subtle arguments, by which 
Agnes Beaumont sought, not only to quiet Ellen’s 
reasonable doubts and apprehensions, but also to 
undermine the very foundations of the truth itself. 
Such a detail would be anything but profitable, 
especially as Ellen, being only a babe in spiritual 
knowledge, was unable to find answers to the plau- 
sible, though really flimsy reasonings, of her older 
and more practised antagonist. Though not al- 
ways convinced, Ellen was generally silenced ; 
and as all the arguments of Agnes were advanced 

O O 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


35 

under cover of zeal for the -truth, and higher at- 
tainments in holiness, Ellen began, by degrees, to 
fall into the snare, and to think it impossible, that 
such exalted sanctity could emanate from an un- 
sound creed. Agnes soon perceived tlie advantages 
she had gained, and she laboured to improve it 
with all the skill of which she was mistress. In 
this she was not a little assisted, though uninten- 
tionally on their part, by Mrs. Golding and her 
daughters, whose insolent and overbearing beha- 
viour presented a striking and most unfavourable 
contrast to her own mild and persuasive manners. 
Nothing could exceed the annoyance of Mrs. Gold- 
ing when she discovered that Agnes possessed any 
degree of influence over the mind of Ellen, and 
she regarded it as an unpardonable piece of ef- 
frontery in her governess, to dare to be biassed by 
the opinions of any one but herself. The young 
ladies, adopting their mamma’s sentiments in this 
particular, and being quite unceremonious as to 
their manner of expressing them, the situation of 
poor Ellen became daily more uncomfortable. 
She was no longer treated with even the outward 
show of respect, but from the heads of the family 
down to the meanest servant, there sepmed a 
pervading feeling, that she had, in some way or 
other, forfeited all right even to common civility. 


36 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


“ To think of the ingratitude of the girl,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Golding; “to me too, who actually 
took her out of charity, to save her from the work- 
house.” 

“ I am not at all surprised, Mrs. Golding, at 
what has occurred,” said her pompous spouse. 
“ And I hope this will be a warning to you, and 
that for the future you will take my advice, and 
not be so fond of employing all the broken-down 
characters you can pick up, out of charity, as you 
call it. ‘ Charity begins at home,’ is my motto, 
and it would be well if you would adopt' it.” 

“ Why, yes, I believe I am much too tender- 
hearted for my own interest,” replied Mrs. Golding, 
with a look of great self-complacency ; “ but really, 
when one sees such cases of distress, it is difficult 
to help relieving them.” 

“ Then I wouldn’t put myself in the way of 
seeing them,” returned her husband ; “ besides, in 
nine cases out of ten, these people are not objects 
of pity — it’s all their own fault.” 

“ Very true,” replied Mrs. Golding, “ and really 
the more I see of this Miss Seymour, the more I 
feel inclined to believe what some persons sa/, 
that her father’s failure was a good deal owing to 
his own imprudence.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOVVEll. 


37 


“ To be sure it was,” said Mr. Golding ; “ it’s all 
nonsense talking about people’s mUfortunes — mis- 
conduct is the right name for them, — and if that’s 
not a man’s own fault, I don’t know what is; — 
misfortunes, indeed! I say there’s no such thing.” 

“ I could bear anything better than ingratitude,” 
said Mrs. Golding, sentimentally, “ but to see this 
girl, after all the kindness with w'hich she has been 
treated, led away by the Puseyite notions of that 
Miss Beaumont, really it is too bad.” 

“ Ah, a Jesuit in petticoats I always told you she 
was,” said Mr. Golding, who detested Agnes Beau- 
mont. “ This is w'hat you get lay being mixed up 
with all these sects and parties, running here and 
there after new-fangled preachers. If you had 
listened to me, you would have stayed quietly at 
your parish church, and kept clear of all these 
scrapes;” and thus saying, Mr. Golding left the 
room with rather more precipitation than accorded 
with his' usual slow pomposity of manner, for he 
too well knew the effect of this mention of the 
“ Parish Church,” to wait the explosion which was 
sure to ensue. 

' As soon as the door was closed, the young 
ladies, who w'ere kept in some restraint by the pre- 
sence of their father, began to give their opinion. 


4 


38 


ELLEN SEVMOUR; OH, 


“ I wonder, mamma,” said Augusta, “ lliat you 
condescend to think so much about Miss Seymour, 
for after all she’s only a governess, and there are 
plenty as good as she is to be had for money.” " 

“Yes, that’s what I say,” cried Lavinia; “if I 
were ma, I wouldn’t trouble myself any more about 
her. Besides, I shouldn’t be sorry if she was gone, 
for she has no spirit, and looks so dismal. I believe 
she’s always crying when she’s out of school.” 

“ Except, when she’s telling tales to Miss Beau- 
mont,” said Augusta, maliciously. 

“ I am sure she cries,” said Cam ; “ for I’ve seen 
her myself. — Yesterday, when I went into her 
room, she was reading a letter, and her eyes were 
quite red.” 

“ It’s those letters she has from home which 
make her so miserable,” said Lavinia; “her falher 
hasn’t got a situation yet, and her mother is nearly 
always ill.” 

“Well, I am sure I have done all I can to assist 
them,” said Mrs. Golding, “ and I think it is any- 
thing but a proper return for my kindness, to be 
always moping and melancholy. She ought to be 
thankful she has a good house over her head, and 
everything in a style far beyond what she ever was 
used to, even in her father’s best days.” 


THE BUD AND THE FEOWER. 


39 


“ And, mamma,” said Augusta, “ another thing 
is, how shabbily she dresses.” 

“ Yes, that’s because she sends all her money to 
her parents,” said Lavinia. 

“Well, but mamma doesn’t give her a salary to 
maintain her parents with, while she goes a figure 
not fit to be seen ; that would be very unfair,” re- 
plied Augusta. 

“ Certainly not,” said Mrs. Golding, “ and I feel 
it quite my duty to look into these things ; and in 
particular, I cannot think of allowing the shadow 
even of Puseyism to get a footing in my house. I 
am sure if Mr. Chesterfield had a notion, that your 
governess was infected with those horrid doctrines, 
he would advise me to get rid of her at once.” 

Open and unsuspecting as was Ellen Seymour, 
it yet was impossible that she could long remain in 
ignorance of the cabal, which was forming against 
her. It had been unprovoked by any impropriety 
of conduct on her part, and she deeply felt its cruelty 
and injustice ; at the same time the fear of aggra- 
vating her parents’ sorrows by the loss of her situ- 
ation, induced her, not only to bear with patience 
unmerited scorn and insult, but to endeavour by 
every means in her power, to conciliate the un- 
feeling minds of her persecutors. 


40 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


It was all to no purpose ; once found guilty of 
imaginary high crimes and misdemeanors, there 
remained for poor Ellen, but a step between the 
passing of the sentence and its execution. 

“ I am very sorry. Miss Seymour, for your 
own sake and your parents’, to whom, I fear, it 
will be a sad blow, but really I cannot conscien- 
tiously permit any one holding Tractarian views to 
have anything to do with the education of my 
.children.” Perceiving that Ellen was about to at- 
tempt a reply, Mrs. Golding continued, “ It’s no use 
to deny the thing, I have my eyes about me, and 
I have seen a great deal lately, which I much dis- 
approve of.” 

Ellen begged she would be more explicit. 

“Well, if I must speak out, I allude to your in- 
timacy with Miss Beaumont — I have nothing, of 
course, to say against her, excepting her danger- 
ous views, and her proselyting turn, which she has 
tried, I fear, with only too much success upon you. 
Now, as I said before, it’s no use denying the thing, 
for I have seen it all from first to last ; I am much 
more sharp-sighted than perhaps you would give 
me credit for. But what I feel most is the ingra- 
titude I have received from you. Miss Seymour, in 
return for all my kindness.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


41 

“ Ingratitude, Ma’am !” said Ellen with astonish- 
ment. 

“ Yes, ingratitude. Miss Seymour, I repeat it — 
ingratitude, for you well know the situation .to 
which you w'ere reduced, and from which you 
were rescued by my taking-you into my family; 
and then to think that you should take up with 
other friends, and be led away into Puseyism.” 

“ Will you allow me. Ma’am, to explain ?” 

“ Certainly, by all means ; but what I say is you 
can’t explain, so it’s of no use saying any more 
about it. Besides, I might mention other things ; 
excuse me. Miss Seymour, but your dress is not in 
keeping with the style of my establishment, nor, I 
may say, such as the liberal salary I allow you 
warrants me to expect. However, I wish to say 
as little as possible, and to act with every conside- 
ration towards you ; therefore you will understand, 
'that you are at liberty to remain in my house as 
long as it suits your convenience ; though at any 
time, that you succeed in obtaining a situation, my 
daughters will be ready to dispense with your ser- 
vices.” 

Thus fairly talked down at a tribunal from which 
there was no appeal, the only alternative which re- 
mained to poor Ellen was silent submission to her 
4 * 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


42 

fate. When the first emotions of mortification had 
subsided, she took up her pen to inform her mother 
of her dismissal, fearing lest the account should 
reach her through some less authentic channel. 
From Ellen’s letter we make the following ex- 
tract : — 

. . . . “ I fear, dearest mamma, you will be 

both surprised and grieved to hear that I have just 
received my dismissal from Mrs. Golding. By my- 
self this event was not entirely unexpected, various 
circumstances having lately led me to anticipate it ; 
though I certainly was not prepared either for its 
suddenness, or for the reasons assigned as the 
cause.- You will smile when I tell you that the 
charge against me is nothing less than that of hold- 
ing heterodox religious opinions ; and, in spite of 
my vexation, I cannot help smiling too — it sounds 
so absurd. Do not think, dearest mamma, that I 
have any reason on my own account to regret 
leaving this family, nor need I add that I have done 
nothing -unworthy of your child. Oh, no ; but my 
tears fall fast when I think of you and dearest papa, 
whom I had fondly hoped in a few months materi- 
ally to have assisted. But I must not make you 
sad by dwelling on my disappointment, but rather 
entreat you to encourage me to new hopes and 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


43 


fresh exertions. Let us not despair, but continue 
to repose all our trust in that kind Providence who 
has never yet deserted us. I shall Idok out for 
another situation immediately — God grant I may 
speedily obtain one. How goes on the beautiful 
piece of work you said you were doing ? I hope 
you will not be obliged to part with it under its 
value.” 

Ellen also wrote to all her friends entreating 
them to use every exertion to procure her another 
situation ; and among the very first she addressed 
was Agnes Beaumont, from whom in a few days 
she received the following reply. 

“ Deeply do I sympathise with you, my beloved 
Ellen, in your existing trials, particularly as I can- 
not but think that, innocently, I have in no small 
measure contributed to them. How doubly thank- 
ful, then, do I feel to the Giver of all good, that Ho 
has put it in my power to help you out of the diffi- 
culties in which your friendship for me, and desire 
after the truth, have tended to involve you. For, 
indeed, my dear Ellen, I cannot consider you in 
any other light than as a sort of martyr, since it is 
plain that you are suffering for your attachment to 
the institutions of our holy Church, as also for your 
love to myself, one of the least of her members. 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


44 

Alas ! alas ! for the dark and unsanctified state of 
those minds which could find in you an object of 
hatred and persecution — let us pity and pray for 
them. — Now what I have to propose to you is this ; 
you have often heard me speak of my dear brother, 
the Rector of P , well, it happens most oppor- 

tunely for you that the lady, who has had for some 
time the care of his children, is com_pelled to leave 
them on account of ill health ; she is advised to try 
the mild climate of the south of Devon, and will 
not probably return for several months. Would 
you like to take her place during her absence? My 
brother and his wife are anxiously expecting your 
answer, and most desirous it should be in the affir- 
mative.” 

An answer in the affirmative was immediately 
returned, the preliminaries were soon settled, and 
after a second tender parting from her aflectionate 
mother, Ellen found herself in the train, rapidly 
whirling towards P Rectory, which was situ- 

ated at the distance of about eighty miles from the 
metropolis. 

We shall for the future generally permit Ellen to 
speak for herself, as the letters she from time to 
time penned to her mother, will best describe the 
impressions made on her mind by persons and 


'JHE BUD AND THE FLOWER 


45 


things in the new sphere to which she was re- 
moved. 

The following is an extract from her first letter : 

The Rectory, October 2nd. 

. . . The rectory is beautifully situated in 

the outskirts of the village; the grounds are taste- 
fully laid out, and the walks and lawns are in the 
nicest order, but the whole has rather a gloomy 
appearance from the number of large trees, and 
particularly evergreens, which are growing on all 
sides, and even close to some of the windows. The 
house itself is of some magnitude, and has appa- 
rently of late undergone considerable alterations 
and additions. These are all in the gothie style, 
and no pains seem to have been spared to give an 
air of antique solemnity to the whole structure. 
The interior is in accordance with the same cha- 
racter; the library, into which I was first shown, 
is an elegantly-proportioned room, with long lan- 
cet-shaped, painted windows, througli<«which the 
last rays of the setting sun shed a pale and me- 
lancholy light. The furniture is all of carved oak, 
and^the walls are lined with books in dark cases 
of the same massive material. When I arrived 
none of the family were at homej but the servant 


40 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


said that their return was instantly expected, as 
they had only gone to look at some improvements 
which were making in the church, a fine edifice 
within view of the windows, and which, like the 
Rectory, has evidently been subjected to various 
architectural reformations. In about ten minutes, 
Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont returned ; they welcomed 
me with courteous kindness, and politely apolo- 
gized for their absence, saying they had not ex- 
pected my arrival at so early an hour. 
Beaumont’s resemblance to his sister is most strik- 
ing — there is the same Italian cast of features, the 
same quiet thoughtfulness of manner, and the same 
deeply-penetrating glance, when roused to atten- 
tion or inquiry. Mrs. Beaumont’s appearance is 
pleasing and elegant, but she says very little — her 
dress is remarkably plain. 

They have three children, the eldest of whom, a 
boy about fourteen years of age, is at school ; while 
the girls, who are eleven and twelve years old, are 
my immediate charge. My new pupils form, as 
indeed does every thing else here, a perfect con- 
trast to the family I have just left. Their names 
are Clara and Agatha ; they are interesting looking 
children — tall, pale, and pensive, with subdued 
manners, and voices which I have not yet heard. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


47 


at least in the presence of their parents, raised 

above a whisper In the few days 

I spent with you, dearest mamma, after leaving 
the Golding’s, you will recollect our many con- 
versations on religious topics, and my frank con- 
fession of feeling so differently on these subjects to 
what I once did. Although, during my late inter- 
course w'ith the religious world I have been much 
perplexed and disappointed, yet every day I live 
onriy tends to deepen my sense of the importance 
of divine things, and to quicken my desires after 
their attainment; and I do earnestly trust that my 
coming into this family may lead to this blessed 
end. There is a solemnity and sanctity stamped 
on everything here which is most impressive, and 
which I pray may reach my cold and insensible 
heart. God bless you, my beloved mother. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

The Rectory, October 16 ///. 

Perhaps my beloved mother thinks that 1 ought 
to write oftcner, but when she hears how fully my 
time is occupied, she will not be surprised if my 
communications are not so frequent as we should 
both desire. I shall commence this from the dale 


r 


48 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


of my last, as I know you like minuteness of detail 
in all that concerns me and my proceedings. 

The day after my arrival I had a long conversa- 
tion with, or rather I should say, I was catechised 
at some length by Mr. Beaumont. He is a person 
who 'takes nothing for granted, but who subjects 
everything to the test of the most rigid inquiry. 
My acquirements in every department of know- 
ledge, plan of instruction, method of discipline, my 
opinions on various subjects, and, I may add, my 
very thoughts and feelings, all underwent a scrutiny 
minute and searching in the extreme. He seemed 
particularly anxious to elicit my opinions on reli- 
gious matters. Alas ! poor I, who have not one 
thought sufficiently matured, to deserve the name 
of an opinion . — I frankly confessed my ignorance, 
and expressed my desire for instruction. At this 
he looked pleased, and then said,*” that he wished 
the religious instruction of his children to be based 
as much as possible upon the doctrines of the 
Prayer-Book, as affording the simplest and most 
faithful interpretation of Scripture, and in particu- 
lar the Catechism, which he designated as an epi- 
tome of all that was needful to be known by the 
young respecting their holy religion. He dwelt 
also much upon the importance of keeping them in 


f 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


49 


continual remembrance of their baptism, in which 
they received the Holy Spirit, and consequently 
the ability to overcome evil tempers and propensi- 
ties, and to do works acceptable to God, adding 
inquiringly, — “ Your mind is, of course, satisfied 
on this point. Miss Seymour V’ 

I replied, “ You are aware, Mr. Beaumont, that 
opinions on this subject very widely differing from 
those w'hich you hav^e just expressed, are held by 
many clergymen of the Church of England.” 

“ I know it, and also that you have attended the 
ministry of one of those, whom I must consider as 
unfaithful to their ordination vows; and he has 
succeeded in corrupting the simplicity of your faith 
on this fundamental truth V’ 

“ I feel perplexed on the subject, certainly,” 
replied I, “ and the more so both on this and other 
points, because I have not seen in those professing 
what are called evangelical views that high stan- 
dard of holiness which I had expected; but, per- 
haps, I was in this respect unfavourably situated.” 
As Mr. Beaumont did not reply, I added, “ My 
- only desire is to take the learner’s place, and I 
trust here to be instructed more perfectly in the 
way of salvation.” 

He again looked pleased, and said he hoped no- 
5 


50 


ELLliN SEYMOlTK; OK, 


thing would be wanting on his part to this desired 
end. He then made some remarks as a guide to 
me in reading history with his children; among 
others he said, he wished me “ to avoid all harsh 
and reproachful terms in speaking of the Roman 
Catholic Church, or any boastful glorying in the 
name of Protestant, with which, in the strict sense 
of the w'ord, as originating from the acts of the Ger- 
man Reformers, we as members of the Church in 
England had nothing whatever to do.” But with all 
ihi^ tenderness towards Rome, I could not help 
being struck at the harsh and intolerant spirit 
which he evinced towards Protestant Dissenters of 
every class and denomination ; he really, as it ap- 
pears to me, excludes them from the pale of salva- 
tion. In conclusion he said, that if I had any 
difficulties, he hoped I should not hesitate to refer 
them to him, as he should at all times be ready to 
do his best in aiding me to solve them. You can 
imagine I w'as not sorry when this inquisitorial 
examination was over; not that I blame Mr. Beau- 
mont, for I consider it to be the duty of parents 
thoroughly to investigate the character and capa- 
bilities of those to whom they entrust their chil- 
dren: but then I can give you no idea of the pecu- 
liarity of his manner — so calm and cold, yet so 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


51 


perfectly courteous and polite, while his keen eye 
and pointed questions seem to penetrate the inmost 
recesses of the soul. 


I must now give you some idea of the manner 
in which my time is occupied here. Except on 
W ednesdays and Fridays, when we attend Church 
once, and on the saints’ days, and other fasts and 
festivals when we attend twice, and which renders 
some alteration in the distribution of our time 
necessary — the following is a sketch of our daily 
routine of employment we rise early, and the 
whole family assembles at half-past seven for pray- 
ers. Mr. Beaumont reads a portion of the Psalms 
or lessons appointed for the day, and sometimes 
makes a few remarks in explanation, if there be 
any seeming obscurity — to this succeeds a form 
of prayer, as Mr. Beaumont does -not approve of 
either extempore prayer or preaching. We break- 
fast at eight, and at half-past nine school-hours 
begin ; these are over at half-past twelve. At two 
we dine, — that is the children and myself, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Beaumont take their luncheon at the 
same time. At three we go into school again, and 
remain till five. At six we have tea, and the chil- 
dren go to bed at eight; oM/-of-school hours, there 




52 


ELLliN SEYMOUR; OR, 


are, strictly speaking, none, at least for me, as, con- 
trary to Mrs. Golding’s plan, my pupils are scarcely 
ever left even for an instant to themselves. The 
time which intervenes between the hours of study 
is occupied, if the weather be fine, in walking, in 
which I accompany them, or in recreations in the 
house, at which I am present, and the evening 
hours are devoted to needlework, and reading 
some amusing and instructive books. The only 
time, therefore, which I can call my own, is after 
my pupils are in bed. It may seem presumptuous 
in such a novice as myself to offer an opinion, but 
I cannot help thinking that this system of constant 
surmillance is productive of bad effects on the 
minds of children. My pupils, in consequence of 
it, seem to be quite incapable of using liberty 
aright; if, as unavoidably sometimes happens, they 
are left alone only for a few minutes, something 
unpleasant is almost sure to occur ; eithei; there is 
a disagreement between themselves, or they get 
into some kind of mischief, which brings on them 
disgrace and punishment, for no fault, however 
trivial, is here passed over without receiving its 
award. There is, certainly, as far as I am con- 
cerned, one pleasant effect of the strict rule of 
pay'lour discipline observed here, which is, that it 


TriE niTD AND TtlE FLOWER. 


53 


disposes the children to prefer the society of their 
governess to that of their parents; but when I say 
this is pleasant to myself individually, I still de- 
plore it as both unnatural and undesirable, and I 
often feel pained for my poor little pupils when I 
witness their evident restraint in the presence of 
their papa, who, I am sure, loves them tenderly, 
but who is so eagle-eyed to their childish failings, 
and so anxious to mould them according to his 
own ideas of excellence, that he defeats the very 
end he aims at, by checking all freedom of inter- 
course between himself and them. I also much 
fear, that this excessive strictness tends to make 
them deceitful, or at least artificial. Mr. Beau- 
mont is most anxious that they should be trained 
up in ignorance of the follies and vanities of the 
world, and I have had special charge to be careful 
not to encourage in them any desires after things 
of this kind. As they are acute, intelligent chil- 
dren, observing and inquisitive, and have con- 
nexions moving in the higher circles of society, 
with whom they have occasional intercourse, it is 
sometimes extremely difiicult to answer their ques- 
tions without entering upon forbidden subjects, and 
I think I can already discover in them a secret 
longing after worldly pleasures, of which they 

5 * 

/ 


54 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


know nothing more than that while they are de- 
nounced by their papa, they are eagerly pursued 
by others. 

Oh, my dearest mother, what a trying position 
is that of a governess, who desires conscientiously 
to discharge her duty to parents and children ! In 
changing my situation, I feel I have also changed, 
but not parted from, trials and difficulties. My 
only comfort is in prayer to the Almighty for his 
guidance and support. Unite your prayers with 
those of 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

The Rectory, JVov. 4th. 

• . . . I have hitherto purposely abstained 

from saying anything on the subject of Mr. Beau- ' 
mont’s preaching, as 1 wished not to give a hasty 
opinion. But having been here full one month, 
during which I have heard him several times, I 
feel that, as far as'I am competent to judge at all, 

I can do so now. I fear you will think me whim- 
sical and dissatisfied when I say, that I do not like 
Mr. Beaumont’s sermons nearly as well as I did * 
Mr. Chesterfield’s, though his deportment in the 
pulpit, and mode of delivery, I greatly prefer. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


55 


The style of his discourses it is very difficult for 
me to describe — there is something about it so 
mystical. At times your mind is enraptured by a 
strain of fervid piety, and feasted with a glimpse 
of divine realities ; but it is only for a moment, and 
again all becomes dim and shadowy, and you fee! 
doubt/ul of the real meaning of anything that you 
have heard. Such, at least, is the effect produced 
on my own mind, and it is most tantalizing, for my 
soul longs for the bread of life, yet cannot feed on 
that which is dispensed here. On one point, how- 
ever, Mr. Beaumont is sufficiently explicit, and 
that is on the necessity of the Sacraments to salva- 
tion ; but then how far their efficacy extends seems 
undetermined, as he strongly condemns the idea 
that any one can attain, during this time-state, to 
certainty respecting their eternal salvation. This 
is a gloomy doctrine, and has a depressing in- 
fluence on my spirits. To be weighed down under 
a sense of sin, and yet told that there is no remedy, 
but that one must go mourning all one’s days, is, 
indeed, grievous and intolerable. I fear I never 
shall be able to open my mind freely to Mr. Beau- 
mont; his manner is such that it tacitly forbids 
inquiry — on religious subjects, I mean; and as to 
the expression of an opinion differing from his own. 


50 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


it would seem, even to oneself, too daringl}' pre- 
sumptuous ever to be hazarded. Besides, I am by 
no means certain of meeting with sympathy, were 
the exercises of my mind disclosed, as from what 
I can gather from all I see and hear, trials of this 
sort are regarded with suspicion, as indicating a 
spirit of restlessness, and, in some way or other, 
of disaffection to the Church, under whose shadow 
every true member is supposed to find peace and 
satisfaction. These .y'ere the sentiments of Agnes 
Beaumont, as I found when I formerly conversed 
with her on the subject of my doubts and difficul- 
ties, and I know she never holds an opinion un- 
sanctioned by her brother. 

The neighbourhood of the Rectory is a populous 
one; within the circuit of a few miles there are 
several families of consideration, to nearly all of 
whom Mr. Beaumont is known, and by whom I 
can see he is greatly respected. Scarcely any one 
of his friends takes any step of importance without 
consulting him on its propriety, and his approval 
seems to stamp the undertaking on which it is 
bestowed with a sort of divine benediction. This 
deference to his judgment might be rendered to him 
as a man of superior understanding and morality; 
but I am sure it is rather homage paid to his cleri- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


57 

cal office, of the reverence due to which he himself 
entertains, and labours to impress upon others, the 
most exalted notions. And certainly there is 
nothing in the conduct of Mr. Beaumont to lessen 
respect for his ministerial character, as it is, I 
think, impossible for anyone’s outward deportment 
to be more rigidly blameless than his, — and yet 
there is something deficient. He always reminds 
me — spiritually, I mean — of a beautiful statue, such 
as we saw in Italy, the symmetry exact, the fea- 
tures faultless, but one thing wanting, and that is 
life. Mr. Beaumont’s hobby is church architec- 
ture ; he seems to think that a church properly con- 
structed would symbolize the most spiritual truths 
of the Gospel, or, in the words of some author 
whom I have heard him quote, become a ^^'petri- 
faction of our religion.'*^ He is delighted with my 
Italian drawing-books, particularly those contain- 
ing sketches of ecclesiastical architecture ; he is 
never tired of looking at them, alid his usual icy 
coldness seems to melt into ecstacy at the contem- 
plation of their beauties. 

You will, perhaps, be surprised that I do not say 
more of Mrs. Beaumont ; but she is so absorbed in 
her husband, and her opinions so entirely coincide 
with his, that she has no distinct character of her 


58 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


own. To my little pupils 1 daily become more 
attached, and their affection for me is most endear- 
ing. I must give you a little sketch of a conversa- 
tion which passed between them and myself yes- 
terday, when we were taking our walk. I forget 
what led to it, but Clara addressing me rather 
abruptly, said, “ Miss Seymour, should you like to 
be a nun?” 

“No, my dear,” I replied, “I should not.” 

“ And may I ask why ?” 

“ For many reasons, but I will give you one. It 
does not appear to ‘me to be in accordance with 
the w'ill of God that we should voluntarily tear 
ourselves away from our family and friends, and 
immure ourselves within the w-alls of a convent, 
to spend our time in counting beads, and perform- 
ing self-imposed penances; for it is said of our 
blessed Lord, who is our great example, that ‘ he 
went about doing good,’ and we cannot find any 
thing in Scripture which justifies us in believing, 
that to shut ourselves out from the society of our 
fellow creatures, and thus limit our powers of use- 
fulness to them, is acceptable to Him.” 

“But Miss Delamotte, who was our governess 
before you came, used to read us out of a book she 
had such interesting stories about nuns, and such 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


59 


beautiful descriptions of convents, that sometimes I 
used almost to wish I were a nun.” 

“Yes, almost, but not quite, Clara,” said her 
sister; “ for you know, if you were a nun, as Miss 
Seymour says, you would never go farther than 
the convent walls, and be shut out from all so- 
ciety.” 

“ Yes, but then, Agatha, don’t you recollect the 
lovely description Miss Delamotte used to give us 
of the convent in the south of France, of which her 
great aunt was the Lady Abbess, and the beautiful 
drawings of it she used to show us. It was the 
most delightful place you can imagine, Miss Sey- 
mour, and the gardens were so beautiful and so 
extensive, that it was impossible even to ivish for 
any thing beyond them.” 

“ Ah, my dear,” said I, “ we cannot read each 
other’s hearts, and see all the wishes passing in 
them, and which, perhaps, are never expressed. 
Do you think, for instance, if you were a nun, that 
having beautiful gardens to walk in, would com- 
pensate for never seeing your papa and mamma, 
and brother and other relatives? Do you not 
think you would often wish to be at home again, 
though you might be afraid to speak your wishes, 
for monks and nuns are not allowed to say what 


60 


ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 


they think, unless it be pleasing to their superiors ; 
and it would not be pleasing to them for you to 
regret you had entered a convent, and to wish you 
could cease to be a nun?” 

After a moment’s pause, Clara said,“ I am quite 
sure I should not like to be a nun, but then the 
reason is, that I am not holy enough.” 

“ And did Miss Delamotte tell you this was the 
reason?” ^ “ Yes, and she used to say that persons 
who entered convents, did so from pure and holy 
motives, which we ought to admire and respect.” 

“ And did she not say they were mistaken in 
so doing?” “No, I think not; though I do not 
know whether she quite approved of Roman 
Catholic convents, but I have often heard her 
say, that she thought it would be a very nice thing, 
if there were some sort of Protestant monasteries 
established.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Agatha, “ I remember she said 
so to my cousin Laura when she was staying here, 
and Laura did laugh so at Miss Delamotte, and 
said, it was much better to go to balls, than to be- 
come nuns.” 

“The best way is to do neither,” replied I, 
“for I believe both are, though in different ways, 
displeasing to God.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


61 


“ Papa was very much displeased with Laura, 
and said it was quite profane of her to talk in this 
manner,” said Clara. 

“ Miss Seymour, have you ever been at a ball ?” 
asked Agatha. 

“ Yes, my dear, I am sorry to say I have.” 

“ Sorry ! why should you be sorry ?” 

“ Because I believe those foolish vanities are 
displeasing to God, who has commanded us neither 
to love the world, nor the things of the w’orld.” 

“ But I should like just to see some of these 
things, that I might judge for myself respecting 
them,” said Clara. 

“ And so should I,” said Agatha. 

“ It would be a dangerous experiment, my dears, 
for the heart is so prone to evil that it naturally 
chooses the things of the world in preference to the 
things of God.” And here I turned theYonversa- 
tion, for I always feel fettered in speaking to these 
children on spiritual subjects, not only on account 
of my own ignorance, but because I fear to say 
something which their papa would disapprove. 
But is it not strange that he should allow a person 
of Miss Delamotte’s sentiments, to have the care 
.of his children, unless, indeed, they accord with 
G 


62 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


his own, which I dare not think of; so good night, 
dearest mamma. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

We shall not give any extracts from Ellen’s let- 
ters during the next six weeks, as nothing particu- 
lar occurred to render them interesting to our 
readers ; but we may just observe, that her per- 
plexities on religious points continued to increase, 
and that at the end of that time she seemed to 
herself farther off than ever from finding the way 
of peace, which she so earnestly desired. In tem- 
poral things also she had much to try her ; her 
father had not yet succeeded in obtaining perma- 
nent employment, while her mother’s health ap- 
peared to be gradually sinking beneath her accu- 
mulated sorrows; nor of these beloved ones, 
morally excellent as they were, could Ellen indulge 
the blessed assurance that they were partakers of 
Divine grace, and consequently included in that 
happy number, of whom it is written, “ all things 
shall work together for good to them that love 
God.” Mrs. Seymour could not enter into the 
exercises of her daughter’s mind ; she could not 
understand why one so amiable and exemplary. 


THE BUI) AND THE FLOWER. 


G.3 


should speak in such strong terms of her own sin- 
fulness, and express so much doubt and anxiety 
respecting her eternal salvation, but being a sen- 
sible and judicious, as well as tender and devoted 
parent, she refrained from saying anything which 
might check the freedom of Ellen’s correspon- 
dence, and endeavoured to console where she felt 
unable to advise. 

We will now permit Ellen to resume her pen: 
the following is an extract from a letter dated 

The Rectory, Dec. '20l1i. 

. . . I believe I have before told you that 

Mrs. Beaumont has a brother of the name of Sta- 
pleton, residing about ten miles from the Rectory. 
His name is, however, not often mentioned here, 
or when pronounced it is generally either with an 
air of concern, or in a tone of pity, with the epi- 
thet of poor prefixed to it, as “ ah, poor Stapleton,” 
or “ my poor dear brother.” I could also plainly 
see that Mrs. Stapleton is no favourite at the Rec- 
tory — and last week, after reading a long letter 
from her brother, Mrs. Beaumont closed it with a 
sigh, at the same time observing to her husband, 
“Ah, it’s all Emily’s doing! what a pity it is that 
he allows himself to be so influenced.” 


04 


ELLElf SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ Ah, poor Stapleton !” said Mr. Beaumont ; “ I 
tremble for him, for I fear he is on the brink of a 
precipice, and ready to take the fatal leap.” 

These ominous expressions naturally made me 
feel a little curious, especially as knowing Mr. 
Stapleton to be in the full enjoyment of every 
earthly blessing, it seemed difficult to imagine why 
he should be constantly singled out as an object of 
anxiety and commiseration. But the mystery re- 
mained unravelled, and I had ceased to think far- 
ther on the subject, when, yesterday, Agatha came 
running into the room with more than usual ani- 
mation, and said, “ Oh, Clara, I have joyful news 
for you, our dear uncle is coming here to-mor- 
row !” 

“Is he, really?” said Clara, her countenance 
brightening up, “ well, that is joyful news ;” but in 
an instant a cloud passed over her brow, and in a 
low tone of mingled pity and affection she added, 
as if speaking to herself, “ my poor dear uncle.” 

“ But why poor?” I asked, “ has any misfortune 
happened to him ?” 

“ Oh, no,” replied Clara, “ and he is the dearest 
person you ever saw’ in your life. Miss Seymour.” 

“Yes, the very dearest,” interrupted Agatha. 

“ But I call him poor,” resumed Clara, “ because 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


G5 


I am so grieved to think that he should hold such 
false and dangerous doctrines.” 

• “What kind of doctrines do you mean, my 
dear?” inquired I, with real interest. 

“ Why, I cannot explain them to you as I ought, 
because I do not rightly understand them myself ; 
but I believe he thinks, that good wmrks have 
nothing to do with salvation, and that the most 
wicked person may be saved if he believes in 
Christ” 

“ Yes, even without receiving the sacrament,” 
added Agatha. 

“And he thinks we are not made children of 
God when we are baptized, as the Catechism says, 
but that no one is a Christian at all unless he is 
' what is called converted, but I cannot tell you what 
he means by that ! Is it not a pity he should hold 
such strange opinions?” 

“And does he not, then, do any good works 
himself?” asked I. 

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed both his nieces at once, 
“ he is the best, the kindest, the most charitable 
person in the world; he is always visiting the poor, 
and relieving their wants, and he visits them when 
they are sick, and reads the Bible to them, and 
prays by them ; but the worst is, he always prays 
G* 


GO 


EI.LEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


out of his own head, without a book, which papa 
says is a most dangerous thing for any one to do.” 

“ And then,” said Agatha, “ though he is not a 
clergyman, he preaches in his own family and in 
the cottages.” 

“He does not call it preaching,'^ said Clara, 
“he calls it expounding the Scriptures; but it is 
nearly the same thing.” 

“ Do you ever stay at your uncle’s house V’ 
asked I. 

“ Never without papa and mamma, and then only 
for a day or two,” replied Clara ; “ but formerly, 
before our dear uncle adopted these w'rong senti- 
ments, or at least before he did such very peculiar 
things, we used to spend weeks at Oakwood, which 
is the name of his place.” 

“ Ah, those were happy times,” said Agatha. 

“Has Mr. Stapleton many children?” 

“Yes, eight,” answ'ered Clara. “The eldest, 
Salome, is much older than I am, she is sixteen; 
but, poor thing, she is always ill, and never able to 
leave her sofa. She had a dreadful fever when 
she w’as about nine years old, and she has never 
been well, nor able to walk since ; yet she is very 
happy, and always looks smiling and cheerful.” 

You can believe, dearest mamma, that I listened 


THE BUD AND THE FI.OVVER. 


07 


to this conversation with intense interest, for the 
erroneous doctrines attributed to Mr. Stapleton 
seem to be the very same which I heard with such 
delight from Mr. Chesterfield, and a ray of hope 
again flits across my mind, that I may yet obtain 
more certainty as to the truth. I shall keep this 
letter open to add a postscript, giving you my im- 
pressions of this anxiously-expected visitor 

On the night of the succeeding day, Ellen added 
the following postscript : — 

Mr. Stapleton has been here, and is gone ; and 
oh, 1 feel as if I had parted from an old and valued 
friend. He is, as his nieces say, the dearest per- 
son in the world ; but I must give you the particu- 
lars of his visit. 

Morning school hours were just over when he 
arrived, and the whole family ran into the hall to 
greet him. It was a most affectionate meeting — 
Mr. Beaumont alone retaining his usual coolness 
and self-possession. My pupils and myself then 
proceeded to take our customary walk, but not till 
their uncle had stipulated that there were to be no 
more lessons for the day, and that we should all 
dine together at three o’clock, that he might see 
as much as possible of his nieces. Mr. Stapleton’s 
appearance is most prepossessing, — such a benign 


G8 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


aspect! There is at times, if it be not wrong to 
sriy so, something really heavenly in the expres- 
sion of his countenance — the reflection of a mind 
occupied with heavenly things. It happened that 
I was left alone with him for a sliort time before 
dinner ; he most kindly entered into conversation 
with me, and inquired whose ministry I had been 
in the habit of attending in London. On my re- 
plying, “ Latterly, that of Mr. Chesterfield,” he 
said, “ Indeed I Mr. Chesterfield is a friend of 
mine; you have then heard the truth preached, 
and I trust have received it in the love of it?” 
This was said inquiringly, and I felt, as I always 
do, some degree of embarrassment in answering 
questions of this kind. But his benevolent man- 
ner encouraged me, and I stated simply, how 
much I had been impressed by Mr. Chesterfield’s 
ministry, and how greatly I was perplexed by the 
different doctrine I was now hearing. He sighed, 
shook his head, was silent for a moment, and then 
said, “ Are you ever able to speak of Jesus to the 
dear little ones here ?” In reply to this I had to 
confess the double difficulty I laboured under, aris- 
ing partly from my own inability, and partly from 
my fear of transgressing the rules which Mr. 
Beaumont had laid down for my guidance on this 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


69 


point. “ ‘ Ah, if the light be darkness, how great 
is that darkness ! — they shut up the kindom of 
heaven, — neither entering in themselves, nor suf- 
fering those that would to enter in !’ ” Mr. Staple- 
ton said these words, as it were, mentally, but I 
was pierced by them as with an arrow ; and yield- 
ing to the anxiety they excited, I exclaimed, “Oh, 
Mr. Stapleton, will you answer me one question? 
— do you believe the doctrines Mr. Beaumont 
preaches to be erroneous ?” 

“ Assuredly I do, my dear young friend ; I be- 
lieve them to be deadly poison, — corrupting truth 
at its source, and to those who drink deeply into 
them, they will prove soul-destroying error. I 
cannot use language too strong to express my 
opinion of their fatal tendency.” 

“ And, may I venture to ask, does Mr. Beau- 
mont know your opinion?” 

“ Fully; in the same unreserved manner in which 
I have stated my sentiments to you, have I over 
and over again declared them to him and to my 
dear sister, enforcing and proving from Scripture 
the reasons on which my arguments are based, but 
hitherto without success ; indeed, I almost feel this 
to be my final visit for some time to come, so de- 
cided is their hostility to the simple truth of the 


70 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


Gospel. My testimony here seems to be done, and 
it only now remains for me to pray for them.” 

“And for me, too,” said I ; “ for what is to be- 
come of me V' 

“ Fear not, my dear young friend ; commit your 
cause to God, He will preserve your soul, and in 
his own time deliver you out of this labyrinth of 
error. I shall unite my prayers with yours for this 
blessed end.” 

Here the door opened, and our conversation 
w^as interrupted; but oh, dear mamma, short as it 
was, what a volume has it opened to me ! I can- 
not express the conflict of feelings to which it has 
given rise; it seems as if I were destined to per- 
petual tossings on the waves of uncertainty. May 
the Lord arise, and say, “ Peace, be still !” 

The conversation during dinner was agreeable, 
as Mr. Stapleton has a pleasing manner of treat- 
ing general subjects. His attention w'as chiefly 
directed to his nieces, whom he sought to interest 
by speaking of their cousins, relating amusing and 
instructive anecdotes, and asking them questions 
suited to their age and capacity. Although his 
whole conversation had a religious tendency, and 
he let no opportunity escape of speaking of and 
for Christ, yet he carefully avoided every subject 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


71 


of a controversial kind. His heart is evidently so 
full of divine love that it is the natural theme of his 
lips, — the overflowing of the well-spring within; 
or, in the beautiful words of our Lord, “ the mouth 
.speaking out of the abundance of the heart.” What 
an attraction there is in the name of Jesus ! Just 
because this precious name is so clearly stamped 
upon Mr. Stapleton, I feel irresistibly drawn to 
confide in him, as if I had proved his friendship 
for years. He did not leave till quite late, seem- 
ing to linger till the last moment, and looked very 
sad at parting. In the bustle of departure he found 
an opportunity to say to me, “ God bless you, my 
dear young friend, to the Lord and the word of 
his grace I commend you ; meditate on the pre- 
cious promises contained in the 121st Psalm, and 
may you be enabled by faith to make them your 
own.” You will, perhaps, be surprised that I 
should feel so much in parting with one whom I 
have only seen for a few hours, but the voice of 
kindness and sympathy is music sweet and strange 
to the ear of a governess; how much more so, 
when that voice is attuned to the heavenly har- 
mony of the Gospel ! Not that I have ever been 
treated here otherwise than with the most perfect 
courtesy, but then I have a painful consciousness 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


72 

of owing much of the consideration shown me to 
a mistake respecting my real sentiments ; and I 
often feel something like a soldier enlisted under 
false colours, who if discovered would meet the 
fate of a spy or a deserter. And yet in reality I 
'know not myself to which side of the question I 
belong, but this I do know, that my most earnest 
desire is for establishment of mind on the side of 
truth, wherever it is to be found ; and all weak and 
wavering as I now am, I believe, in that case 
strength would be given me to embrace and pro- 
fess it whatever the cost and hazard. It is very 
late, and I am very tired ; my eyes and my heart 
both ache, so good night, dearest mamma. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Nearly three months had rolled away since the 
date of the preceding letter, before we thought 
proper to submit to our readers another extract 
from Ellen’s correspondence. We now insert the 
following lines for their perusal: 

The Rectory^ March 14/A. 

. . . Ever since Mr. Stapleton’s visit, Mr. 

Beaumont’s manner to me has been unusually kind 


THE DUD AND THE FLOWER. 


73 


and conciliatory; he seems more than ever anx- 
ious to ascertain my sentiments, and the slightest 
expression of an opinion meets with the most pro- 
found and patient attention. Just at this time his 
mind is almost entirely engrossed with the altera- 
tions which are going on in the church ; he is en- 
thusiastic on the subject of a painted window, 
which is to cast its ‘ dim religious light' over the 
‘ severe and awful solitude' of the chancel ; but the 
thing nearest his heart is the erection of a stone 
altar in the place of the communion-table, though, 
I believe, the execution of this favourite scheme is 
relinquished for the present, in deference to the 
judgment of his Diocesan, who considers it, to say 
the least, ‘ inexpedient' Some of Mr. Beaumont’s 
parishioners have taken offence at his preaching in 
the surplice, wdiile others as strenuously support 
it. He is evidently becoming daily more devoted 
to forms and ceremonies, and seems to attach a 
value to them, which is inexplicable in a clergy- 
man of the Church of England. He even speaks 
in terms of approbation of the Popish custom of 
placing candles on the altar, and adorning it with 
flowers on days of festival ; and he often makes 
me talk to him of what 1 have seen in foreign 
churches and cathedrals of the ‘ pomp and circum- 
7 


74 ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OK, ^ ’ 

stance’ of Romish ceremonial — he will listen to 
the recital with intense interest, and then turn 
away from the contemplation of the ‘ grandeur of 
her system’ with a sigh of regret, that her errors 
should oblige us to separate from her; or else, in a 
tone of the deepest feeling, repeat Keble’s touch- 
ing stanzas upon the same subject, the very spirit 
of which he seems to have imbibed. 

“ — O ! by all the pangs and fears 
Fraternal spirits know, 

When for an elder’s shame the tears 
Of wakeful anguish flow, 
i^peak gently of our sister’s fall : 

Who knows but gentle love 
May win her at our patient cal! 

The surer way to prove 1” 

Mr. Beaumont has lent me a variety of books, 
which he considers calculated to confirm my reli- 
gious belief, or, at all events, my attachment to 
the Church, which in his vocabulary seem to be 
nearly, if not quite, synonymous terms. At least 
it is certainly his opinion, and that of his favourite 
authors, that while it is just 'possible to miss salva- 
tion within the pale of the Church, it is impossible 
to obtain it in any other communion,— Rome, of 
course, always excepted, as she is considered a 
branch, though in a corrupted condition, of the 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


75 

one holy, Apostolic, Catholic Church. But with 
regard to the question of Church and Dissent, I 
feel I have nothing to do, as my mind is exercised 
upon subjects of a deeper and more personal na- 
ture than any outward distinctions whatever; and 
it is the difference of opinion upon these subjects 
between ministers and writers alike professedly 
members of the Established Church, which ren- 
ders the way to arrive at truth so puzzling to 
inquirers- And besides this, I cannot help remark- 
ing how much nearer agreement on fundamental 
points are the evangelical of all ages and denomi- 
nations, whatever their outward differences, than 
are what is called the high and low' party in the 
Church of England, notwithstanding their external 
conformity. In all these Puseyite works, as by 
way of distinction I must call them, much as I 
generally dislike party names, there is nothing that 
meets the exigencies of my case — I feel J am per- 
sonally and individually a lost, ruined sinner, per- 
sonally and individually responsible to God, and 
personally and individually to render an account 
to Him at his judgment-seat. Now then to meet 
these, I feel that I need a personal interest in the 
death and merits of Christ, a personal divine 
change wrought by the operation of the Holy 


76 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Spirit, a personal reconciliation to God as the 
Judge of all, and a personal assurance, or, at least, 
good hope, through grace, that I am accepted of 
Him in order to my peace and happiness while 
journeying through this wilderness world. But 
neither Mr. Beaumont, nor the works which he 
has put into my hands, afford any solid ground 
of satisfaction on these points; on the contrary, 
they tell me that ‘ the Church’s plan is to 
make us forget ourselves, and to view our- 
selves principally as members one of another,’ 
and that to be concerned about one’s indivi- 
dual interests is ‘ to exalt self and inward feel- 
ings, and to restrict to individuals the privileges 
which God has given to the whole Catholic 
Church.’ But how different these sentiments 
from those of the evangelical clergymen of the 
Church of England, both in this and former ages, 
I have happily discovered from several of their 
works, kindly lent me by Mr. Stapleton ; and also 
from another book — a collection of choice sayings, 
selected from the works of pious writers of all de- 
nominations, lent me by a good old lady in this 
neighbourhood. I find an unity of testimony to 
all the leading doctrines of Scripture, which seems 
to afford strong presumptive evidence that they 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


77 


were all taught by one and the same Spirit. But 
here again comes in the assumption of the Pusey- 
ites, that ail who differ from them are, indeed, led 
by one spirit, but that an evil and lying one. If 1 
had not read their works, I could not have believed 
it possible that they could so confound together in 
one indiscriminate mass the whole body of their 
opponents, and heap upon them a load of unquali- 
fied abuse, as shocking to a Christian, as it is offen- 
siv'e to a candid and liberal mind. Almost the 
only works of fiction which my pupils are per- 
mitted to read, are those in which the doctrines of 
the Oxford tracts are interwoven with the inci- 
dents of some interesting and beautifully written 
tale, so as the more effectually to impress them 
upon the ductile minds, and susceptible imagina- 
tions of the young and unwary. I feel much 
grieved to see them so employed, and to hear 
them give utterance to the bigoted and intolerant 
sentiments which they gather from these per- 
verted sources. Their brother, though in many 
respects a nice youth, was particularly trying to 
me in this way, and I w^as really glad when his 
holidays were over, as he was continually reite- 
rating wdth all the boldness and vehemence of ex- 
pression natural to his sex and years, his hatred of 
7 * 


EM.EN SEYMOUR ; OR. 


78 

those “rascally puritans,” “traitorous presbyte- 
rians,” “ vile schismatics,” &c. 

I ventured yesterday to propose to Mr. Beau- 
mont the question which is always uppermost in 
my own mind : — “ In what manner is the sinner 
justified before God?” He surveyed me for an 
instant with a fixed and penetrating look, and then 
with a softened air, and in the mildest tone replied, 
“Christ has appointed in His church certain means 
by which we receive the merits and efficacy of 
His intercession, such as — confession, repentance, 
prayer, the eucharist, absolution, and priestly in- 
tercession — these are the conditions on which He 
bestows the inestimable benefits arising out of the 
work of redemption.” 

“ But then,” said I, “ how can I ever feel sure of 
salvation, as it is impossible for me ever to know 
whether I have sufficiently acted up to the neces- 
sary requirements ?” 

“ True, neither is it intended that we should ar- 
rive at certainty on this point, as in our present 
imperfect state it would only lead to supineness 
and lukewarmness ; but while we do and ought to 
doubt of our own fitness to receive such wondrous 
grace, we ought not to doubt of the mercy of God, 
and the efficacy of the Sacraments.” I suppose he 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


79 


read in my countenance the unsatisfactory nature 
of this statement, as he added, “ I know that the po- 
pular mode of preaching is, ‘ to bring forward the 
doctrine of the atonement on all occasions, promi- 
nently and exclusively,’ and to say, ‘ let this doc- 
trine be received, and good works will necessarily 
follow;’ — ‘the supposition is, that the infinite and 
incomprehensible love of God manifested therein, 
will, on being published, powerfully affect men’s 
minds, and on being heard, regenerate their souls;’ 
but not only does it appear to me, that ‘ the exclu- 
sive and naked exposure of so very sacred a truth, 
is unscriptural and dangerous, but as Bishop Wil- 
son says — the comforts of religion ought to be 
applied with great caution.’ ” 

I cannot describe what I felt at hearing Mr. 
Beaumont express himself thus ; it seemed as if the 
dearest treasure I possessed were being forcibly 
wrested from my trembling grasp, as if the last 
remaining inch of ground on which hope could 
plant her wearied foot were crumbling away, and 
that I were descending into an abyss of unfathom- 
able depth and darkness ; but the blessed words of 
eternal life were graciously brought to my recol- 
lection, “/w this was manifested the love of God, 
because that God sent his only-begotten Son into 


80 


EKLKN SEVMOUK; OK, 


the world, that we might live through him,” and I 
summoned courage to say, “ I am sure in my own 
case it was the explicit preaching of this blessed 
doctrine of the atonement, which was the means 
. of arousing me from a state of nature.” 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Seymour, for inter- 
rupting you, but you forget that you have not 
since your baptism been in a state of nature.” 

“ It was, then, the means of awakening in me 
feelings of which I was never previously con- 
scious — it was the means, in fact, of making me 
see what the evil of sin must be, which required 
so costly a sacrifice to put it away, and if I know 
any thing of my own heart, I can say with truth, 
that, on my part, I should think no sacrifice too 
great if I could but obtain the assurance that my 
sins were forgiven.” I spoke earnestly, and in a 
hurried manner, for I was scarcely able to com- 
mand either my voice or feelings. 

He replied, “We must recollect, ‘there are but 
two periods of absolute cleansing: baptism, and 
the day of judgment; — we have no account in 
Scripture of any second remission, obliteration, 
and extinction of all sin, such as is bestowed on 
us by the one baptism for the remission of sins.’ ” 

“ How was it, then,” said I, “ that the mind of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


81 


the great Reformer, Luther, was so deeply exer- 
cised upon the subject of the forgiveness of sins'? 
and were not his anxieties upon this point, the 
primary means of the recovery of the doctrine of 
justification by faith, which had been buried for so 
many ages beneath the rubbish of Popish abuses 
and superstitions?” 

* A contemptuous smile curled Mr. Beaumont’s 
lips, and his eye flashed darkly as he sarcastically 
replied, “ You have studied D’Aubignd of late to 
some purpose, I perceive. Miss Seymour,” adding, 
“ I confess I have not much sympathy with the Lu- 
theran doctrine of justification, nor, indeed, with 
the doctrines of any of the continental reformers, 
and think it very questionable whether their so- 
called ‘ glorious Reformation’ might not rather be 
termed ‘ a sad mistake,’ if not even ‘ a deplorable 
schism.’ ” I looked at Mr. Beaumont with amaze- 
ment, mingled with a kind of horror: — never before 
had I heard him speak so plainly — he seemed to 
guess what was passing in my mind, and said, 
“ This assertion is, no doubt, a startling one to 
Protestant ears.” 

“ And are not you, then, a Protestant, Mr. Beau- 
mont?” interrupted I. 

“Not in the sense of Luther and Calvin — with 


82 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR. 


their protests against Rome, I, as a member of the 
Church in this country have nothing to do; — and 
had I to set up any one as a standard, beside the 
Church herself, I do not hesitate to say, that I 
should prefer Laud to Luther.” 

“You do not, then, glory in the name of Pro- 
testant ?” 

“Certainly not — I glory in that I belong to the 
one, holy, catholic, apostolic Church.” 

“ And in what light, then, may I ask, do you 
regard the martyrs of our Church, who laid down 
their lives, rather than conform to the errors of 
Popery ?” 

“ We must not speak lightly of martyrs,” replied 
he, “ but still I do really feel some difficulty in 
conceding the title of martyr to those who lost 
their lives for throwing off their allegiance to 
Rome, — at least I cannot admit their claim to it 
in that comprehensive and blessed sense in which 
I delight to award it to that ‘ holy army,’ who fell 
in the ranks of the Church by the hand of Pagan 
persecution.” 

I was glad to escape from this painful conversa- 
tion to the solitude of my room; and there, falling 
on my knees, while a flood of tears came to the 
relief of my overwrought feelings, I poured out 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


83 


my heart in praises to God, that He had not suf- 
fered my faith, weak as it was, to be overthrown 
by the fiery darts of the enemy. 1 besought Him 
to give me strength to hold fast the little I had at- 
tained of His precious truth, and not to allow me 
to be entangled in any yoke of bondage, but to 
preserve me from error of every kind, by vouch- 
safing me a more enlightened understanding of the 
Holy Scriptures, and a deeper acquaintance with 
the person and work of his beloved Son. I then 
opened my Bible, and never before had its blessed 
offers of salvation, and promises of mercy, appear- 
ed so full, so free, so distinct, and so unlimited, as 
when contrasted with the narrowness and obscurity 
with which the sophistry of man would invest 
them. “ The atonement should be preached with 
reserve,” says Mr. Beaumont — “ As Moses lifted 
up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the 
Son of man be lifted up; that whosoever believeth 
in Him should not perish, but have eternal life;” 
(John iii. 14, 15;) is the open declaration of the 
Lord Jesus ; and from the lips of the risen Saviour 
issued the unlimited command, “ Go ye into all 
the world, and preach the gospel to every crea- 
ture.” (Mark xvi. 15.) 

“ The comforts of religion should be dispensed 


ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 


84 

with caution,” is the assertion of the one — “ Come 
unto me all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest,” is the gracious invitation 
and promise of the other ; while He expressly 
declares to His sorrowing disciples, “ It is expedi- 
ent for you that I go away, for if I go not away, 
the Comforter will not come unto you,” and this 
“ Comforter” we learn, from another place, was 
“ to abide with them for ever.” (John xvi. 7 ; 
xiv. 16.) 

What an unspeakable mercy to have the Word 
of God in our hands, and to peruse it with a mind 
unshackled by the restrictions which the pride and 
bigotry of man would impose upon it. In taking 
up the Scripture, and contemplating the lengths, 
and breadths, and depths, and heights which it 
contains, I feel that I need to have my under- 
standing enlarged, that I may be able to receive 
“the things which are freely given to us of God,” 
instead of these being meted out in scanty measure 
to suit the narrowness of my capacity. Many, 
indeed, are the misgivings and perplexities occa- 
sioned me by the opinions and doctrines of men, 
and which have peculiar power to try me, because 
of my ignorance and unbelief. But amid all the 
tossings of uncertainty, that which sustains my 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


85 


soul from sinking is the word of God, and the 
abiding conviction, that its blessed contents are 
His free gift to all who will receive them, for it 
is written, “ Whosoever will, let him take of the 
water of life freely.” (Rev. xxii. 17.) 

It gives me much comfort to know that you are 
interested in all that 1 write on these topics; and 
also that you agree with me, that our only safe- 
guard in these perilous times is in reading the 
Scriptures, and hearing the word faithfully preach- 
ed, which I am rejoiced to think is your happy 
privilege, since you have attended Mr. L.’s minis- 
try. God bless you, my beloved mother. 

Your affectionate Child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

About a month after the date of the foregoing 
extract, Ellen wrote to her mother as follows : — 

The Rectory, April \ 2th. 

I do not know', my beloved mother, whether you 
ever see a newspaper; if you do, you may, per- 
haps, be already informed of what has occurred — 
if not, you will be both surprised and shocked, at 
the intelligence I have to communicate, which is 
nothing less than that Mr. Francis Beaumont, Mr. 

8 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


86 

Beaumont’s only brother, has embraced the Roman 
Catholic religion, or, to use his own language, is 
reconciled to the Holy Catholic Church. Mr. Fran- 
cis Beaumont is, like his brother, a clergyman, 
and, as he is unmarried, his friends seem to appre- 
hend his eventually becoming a Roman Catholic 
Priest, for it appears that his enthusiasm for his 
adopted mother knows no bounds. The ceremony 
of his recantation of the ei'rors of Protestantism 
took place at Rome, M'here he has been residing 
for the last two years. Mr. Beaumont was, I be- 
lieve, entirely unaware of his brother’s intentions, 
till within a few weeks of their accomplishment — 
of course I knew nothing of what was going on, 
but I could not avoid remarking, that, of late, let- 
ters from the continent have been looked for with 
intense anxiety, and read with deep pain. This 
miserable intelligence reached the Rectory on 
Tuesday morning at breakfast time; Mr. Beau- 
mont read the letter, and put it into his pocket, 
without saying a word. Mrs. Beaumont watched 
his countenance, and said calmly, “ I see how it is, 
our worst fears are confirmed but immediately 
afterwards her forced placidity gave way, and she 
burst into tears. I rose to leave the room with 
the children, but about an hour after was sent for 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


87 


by Mr. Beaumont. I found him in his study ; his 
usual cold serenity of manner had not deserted 
him, neither did a muscle of his features move, as 
with compressed lips, and in a low, deep voice he 
explained to me what had occurred. He simply 
related the fact in as few words as possible, and 
without any comment that could indicate the light 
in which he himself viewed it. He added, that 
Mrs. Beaumont, in consequence of the suddenness 
of the communication, w'as much indisposed, and 
that, as business of importance called him away 
from home, and would probably detain him some 
hours, it was her wish to have me with her during 
his absence, and that I might, therefore, send my 
pupils into the nursery for the day, which would 
enable me to devote all my time to their’ mamma. 

I found Mrs. Beaumont alone in her dressing- 
room, dissolved in tears, and in a painful state of 
distress and agitation. On my entering, she ex- 
tended her hand to me, without speaking, and, 
drawing me towards her, made me take a seat be- 
side her on the sofa. I confess I had not, previ- 
ously to this time, felt much union with Mrs. Beau- 
mont; though uniformly polite, her character was 
of such a negative description, if I may be allowed 
the term, and she appeared so totally deficient in 


88 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


sensibility, that she had always been to me pecu- 
liarly uninteresting. But affliction softens hearts 
of the most opposite mould, and causes them to 
flow together. So it was now : Mrs. Beaumont, 
in sorrow and tears, was quite a different person 
from Mrs. Beaumont in prosperity and at ease, 
neither needing consolation herself nor bestowing 
it upon others. At length she said, “ Oh, Miss 
Seymour, what a stunning blow is this ! a blow 
from the ‘ heavy hand’ of God. — I think, from 
what I have seen of you, that you will understand 
something of the nature of my feelings, but of 
their aggravated bitterness — aggravated by my 
own wilful blindness, you can form no conception. 
Oh, my brother, my brother, how have I neglected 
your warnings, and despised your admonitions. 
Oh ! what would I not give to have him here at 
this instant.” 

“ And will you not send for him V* 

“ I — Oh, yes; I, but” and here she stopped ; 

had she finished the sentence, I think she would 
have added, “ but my husband will* not give his 
consent.” I said everything I could to soothe her ; 
but, alas ! I was painfully sensible of my own ineffi- 
ciency to administer consolation in such a case. 
However, the little I was able to say had the effect 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


89 


of calming the extreme agitation of her mind, 
though the cause of her distress seemed beyond 
the reach of alleviation — it evidently lay deeper 
than the mere fact of her brother-in-law becoming 
a Roman Catholic. After a pause, in which it was 
plain that many painful thoughts were revolving in 
her mind, she said, “Miss Seymour, let my case be 
a warning to you ; I once had a measure of evan- 
gelical knowledge, and took delight in prayer and 
reading the Scriptures, but I suffered myself, con- 
trary to my better judgment, to be drawn aside, not 
by the pleasures, but by the religion, of the world ; 
— I gave up vital principles for dead forms and 
ceremonies ; — I quenched light, till the light in me 
gradually became darkness, and at length I was 
perfectly at ease, and satisfied with the mere ex- 
ternals of religion ; but it will not do now, it will 
not stand in the day of trial. Oh, the agony of 
remorse — of feeling that God is contending with 
you, and fighting against you with weapons of 
your own invention.” I spoke of the mercy of 
God, and suggested that possibly this trial might 
be sent to restore her to the knowledge of his 
ways. 

“Oh!” said she, “but what may I not have to 
sufler! who can foresee all the consequences of 
8 » 


90 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Frank’s wretched apostacy — my husband, my 
children ! if they should be entangled in the snare,” 
and a -shudder ran through her frame at the 
thought, “ they will owe their ruin to me, for I 
knew better,'and ought to have used all my influ- 
ence to stop the progress of these delusions, but it 
is too late now.” 

From what I have said, dearest mamma, you 
will suppose that this was altogether a most dis- 
tressing, though not wholly unedifying scene. I 
proposed reading some portions of Scripture ; and, 
at Mrs. Beaumont’s request, selected some of the 
penitential Psalms. She appeared, at times, to de- 
rive comfort from their tone of deep repentance 
and confession ; then again, the sense of her situa- 
tion would recur in all its vividness, — and thus 
several hours passed away till the time of Mr. 
Beaumont’s expected return drew near. As this 
approached, she evidently endeavoured to assume 
an appearance of composure; and after his arrival 
I saw no more of her for that day. 

The next morning I was informed by Mr. Beau- 
mont, that Mrs. Beaumont’s indisposition continu- 
ing, he had thought it right to despatch a special 
messenger for her brother, and that his arrival was 
hourly expected. He mentioned this, as it ap- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


91 


peared to me, with some degree of reluctance, and 
then added, that though Mrs. Beaumont was too 
weak for conversation, she would like to see me for 
a few minutes in her dressing-room. I found her 
lying on the sofa, looking miserably pale and de- 
jected ; she pressed my hand really affectionately, 
‘and said in a low voice, “ Thank God, my brother 
is sent for, and I trust his wife will accompany him. 
My dear Miss Seymour,” said she, drawing me 
closer to her, and lowering her voice almost to a 
whisper, “will you make me one promise — promise 
me, that you will not leave my children unless — 
unless it is insisted upon — promise me that you 
will not voluntarily leave them — I mean now, at 
this crisis.” All the mother was expressed in the 
anxiety of her countenance and manner as she 
awaited my answer. I was deeply affected, and 
could not at once reply; at last I said, “ You know, 
dear Mrs. Beaumont, that my coming here at all 
was only a temporary arrangement, and dependent 
on circumstances over which I have no control.” 
I seemed to read her thoughts, and to be unable to 
pronounce either the name of Miss Delamotte, or, 
in more distinct terms to refer to her probable re- 
turn to the Rectory. 

“I know if, and that is what I dread,” said she. 


92 


ELLEN SEYMOCR'; OR, 


with a sigh, and a look of despair, which went to 
my heart. Oh, dear mamma, how could I ever 
have thought her cold and insensible ! I am sure 
she is all heart, all feeling. 

After a short pause, during which I could not 
restrain my tears, I said, “ Without exacting from 
me a promise, can you not trust me to act in a 
manner worthy of your confidence, for, believe me, 
I should not be happy in taking any step without 
your concurrence — will not this, my dear Mrs. 
Beaumont, satisfy you?” 

“It will — God bless you, my dear; kiss my 
children for me.” 

I then left the room, and soon afterwards I found 
that Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton had arrived. I saw' 
nothing of them for about tw'o hours, but at the end 
of that time a light step was heard on the staircase, 
followed by a gentle tap at the school-room door, 
which opened, and Mrs. Stapleton was folded in 
the arms of her nieces. Having disengaged her- 
self from them, she cordially saluted me, saying, 
in the most courteous and pleasing manner, that 
she could not feel towards me as a stranger. She 
then told her nieces many particulars respecting 
her own children, and concluded by giving them 
each a book, which, she said, was a present from 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


93 


their cousins. She said, “ I dare say Miss Sey- 
mour will kindly allow you to take them into the 
play-room to read.” 

As the door closed after them she said smilingly, 
“ I know the rules of the house, and have provided 
for their non-infringement, by requesting Harris,” 
(Mrs. Beaumont’s waiting-maid, and a privileged 
person,) “to take her work into the play-room, and 
see that they do not get into mischief, while I have 
a little conversation with you, dear Miss Seymour. 
This is a sad, sad affair which has summoned us 
here,” continued Mrs. Stapleton, “ though none 
other than my husband and myself have long fear- 
fully anticipated. Poor Mrs. Beaumont’s condition 
is deplorable indeed ; the bitter pangs of remorse 
for the past being added to the worst apprehensions 
for the future — and 1 cannot say that I have any 
assurance that her fears are groundless.” 

“ Do you mean for Mr. Beaumont? Surely you 
do not fear his following his brother’s example.” 

“And w'hy not? He has already advanced to 
the very verge of the Rubicon which separates 
truth from error — Protestantism from Popery — or 
rather I ought, perhaps, to say he has gone farther, 
and is standing in the midst of the boundaries of 
division ; and if he retrace not his steps, there need 


94 


ELLEN SEYMOaR ; OR, 


but few more to plant him in the very bosom of 
Rome.” 

“ How awful ! and how deeply is poor Mrs. 
Beaumont to be felt for.” 

“ She is, indeed. Perhaps you are not aware 
that Mrs. Beaumont, or Louisa Stapleton as she 
then was, and myself were educated together at 
Mrs. Sands’ school; and there it was, Mrs. Sands 
being a true Christian, that we both received our 
first spiritual impressions. I do not mean to say 
that either of us were then decidedly converted, 
but our conscience was awakened to the import- 
ance of divine things, and our understanding was 
enlightened by the pure truth of the Gospel, so that 
we each had clear apprehensions of the way of 
salvation by faith alone in the blood of Jesus. We 
both married early, and, according to the light we 
had, sought to regulate our own conduct and that 
of our households by the standard of the word of 
God. Living within so short a distance of each 
other, the friendship of our school days was unin- 
terrupted, and continued to ripen with our years. 
I should tell you that Louisa always made a more 
open profession of religion than myself, as in fact 
she was far beyond me in clearness of views, 
especially on points of doctrine. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


95 


These days of happy, mutual intercourse con- 
tinued unsullied by a cloud till about seven years 
ago, when a most afflictive dispensation was the 
means of bringing my dear husband to a saving 
knowledge of the truth. His progress in the di- 
vine life was as rapid as its commencement had 
been decided ; his heart was overflowing with 
peace and love, and he could not but speak to 
others of the things which he had seen and heard. 
Louisa at first professed herself delighted at the 
change which had taken place in her brother, she 
was never so happy as in his society, and became 
increasingly zealous and spiritual. She seemed 
anxious to carry non-conformity to the world as 
far as possible, even laying aside her accomplish- 
ments, and dressing in the extreme of plainness 
and peculiarity. 

This state of things continued for about two 
years, when Mr. Francis Beaumont, who was 
pursuing his studies at Oxford, and had become 
deeply imbued with Tractarian errors, paid a visit 
at the Rectory, and left no means untried to win 
over his brother and his wife to his opinions. 
Strange to say, with Louisa he was, finally, only 
too successful, at least so far as to induce her to 
read the works he put into her hands ; and I be- 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


96 

lieve the first Oxford tract that Mr. Beaumont 
ever read was by her persuasion.” 

“ No wonder then that she now feels so acutely ; 
but what kind of a character was Mr. Beaumont 
previously to that time ?” 

“He was a strictly moral and outwardly reli- 
gious character, though he had not then attained 
to the same measure of pharisaic holiness which 
you now see in him. He is naturally of an imagi- 
native and somewhat melancholy temperament, 
which, mingled with a large proportion of pride 
and austerity, disposes him to venerate whatever 
is clothed with the sanctity of antiquity, and thus 
eminently fits him for the reception of these pre- 
sumptuous and self-exalting doctrines. The seed 
of error once sown, its growth was frightfully 
rapid, and poor Louisa stood, for a time, aghast at 
the gigantic spread of evils which she herself had 
helped to produce ; but at length it became only 
too evident that the simplicity of her faith was 
gradually giving way to the insidious working of 
error, and she began to shun intercourse with us, 
without assigning any cause for her altered con- 
duct. At this critical juncture, your friend, Agnes 
Beaumont, came to stay at the Rectory, and 
though many years younger than Louisa, it was 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


97 


astonishing the influence she almost immediately 
obtained over her. From that time Louisa and I 
have known comparatively but little of each other, 
and for the last two years we have been more like 
strangers than friends of early youth. Ridicu- 
lously enough, my dear husband’s advances in 
knowledge of the mind of God, and conformity to 
his will, are constantly attributed to my influence; 
while, in fact, the contrary is so much the case, 
that any little measure of grace I have^attained is, 
as a means, entirely owing to his heavenly-mind- 
ed walk and conversation. And now, my dear,” 
continued Mrs. Stapleton, “ I come to what most 
nearly concerns yourself. To those who under- 
stand what is the working of certain principles 
upon such a mind as Mr. Beaumont’s, it is evident, 
that you will not much longer be allowed to retain 
your office in this house ; for your own sake I 
shall rejoice whenever you are set free from the 
snares which surround you here, and I can only 
say, though without in the least desiring to influ- 
ence your conduct, that whenever you are fairly 
at liberty, both Mr. Stapleton and myself hope that 
you will not object to find your next home' under 
our roof. I am in much need now of assistance in 


9 


gg ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 

ihe education of my children, and I think we 
might be mutually helpful.” 

I was so overwhelmed by this unexpected kind- 
ness, that for some time I w’as really unable to ex- 
press my gratitude in words. Oh, mamma, let us 
praise God for his goodness in providing such a 
refuge for your poor child ! 

When the first emotions of joy on my own ac- 
count had a little subsided, my thoughts recurred 
to the trials of others, and I mentioned to Mrs. 
Stapleton the conversation which had passed only 
this morning between Mrs. Beaumont and myself 
on the subject of my leaving, repeating what I had 
said to her of my purpose not to take any step 
without her full concurrence. 

“Ah, my dear,” said she in reply, “be assured 
this is a matter over which neither she nor you 
will have any control.” 

“ You think, then, that Miss Delamotte will re- 
turn?” 

“Yes, and I even feel certain in my own mind, 
that her return will be very speedy, as Mr. Beau- 
mont only just now told me that he had received 
a letter from her yesterday, and that her health, 
though .not entirely re-established, is yet suffici- 
ently so to allow of her resuming her duties.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


99 


“ I cannot regret this on my own account ; but 
my poor little pupils ! how lamentable that they 
should be subjected to such an influence as that 
which I imagine Miss Delamolte’s to be.” 

“You cannot well imagine anything worse than 
it is, I mean on the one essential point of religious 
instruction.” 

“And is it possible that Mr. Beaumont can ap- 
prove of such a preceptress for his children ; and 
if so, may I ask in what light he views his bro- 
ther’s accession to the Church of Rome 

“It is very difficult to ascertain Mr. Beaumont’s 
real feelings upon any subject on which he is 
cautious of revealing them; but he certainly does 
not in words express approbation of the step, 
though he is far from speaking strongly in its con- 
demnation ; neither will he allow that there is any 
connexion between Tractarianism and Popery, or 
that the tenets which his brother imbibed at Ox- 
ford have helped to pave his way back to Rome.” 

“ How mysterious does it appear, that I should 
ever have been brought into this family, and yet 
something seems to tell me it will ultimately be 
for good.” 

“ Your coming here was entirely the contri- 
vance of your friend Agnes Beaumont, and her 


100 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


motive was, I believe, to make a proselyte of you 
to the doctrines of Puseyism ; but to the Lord, my 
dear, you owe your preservation from the snares 
which were spread for your feet, and I doubt not 
you will in the end praise. Him for all the way by 
which he has led you.” 

Our tete-a-tete was here agreeably interrupted 
by the entrance of Mr. Stapleton ; he looked very 
sorrowful, and shook his head mournfully in reply 
to his wife’s inquiries after his sister. “ Poor 
Louisa,” said he at length, “ she is in a most 
affecting and pitiable condition ; yet far better is 
her present state of remorse and agony, than the 
false peace in which her conscience has been 
steeped for the last two years — we can welcome 
even the rude voice, of adversity, if it arouse us to 
a sense of the real danger of our situation.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Stapleton, “ how completely 
was that poor Louisa’s case, the semblance of 
peace where no true peace was.” 

“And it was then only the semblance?” said I, 
“ for nothing, it appeared to me, could exceed 
Mrs. Beaumont’s habitual ease and composure.” 

“ True, but it was quite unnatural,” replied Mr. 
Stapleton, “ for although my sister’s manner was 
habitually mild and gentle, yet nothing was more 



• t 


101 


^ THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 

foreign to her real character than apathy and in- 
difference. The lethargic slate of mind you have 
observed in her was produced by the opiate of 
false doctrines, applied to quiet the struggles of a 
reproving conscience.” 

“But you would' not say,” said Mrs. Stapleton, 
“ that Louisa’s faith had ever been very firmly 
planted on the Rock — she never was what you 
call an established Christian?” 

“ Why not exactly, perhaps, and yet she had 
much light, and more zeal ; but she certainly was 
wanting' in stability, as the event has proved. I 
always thought her inclined to run into extremes 
on non-essential points, and have often warned her 
against this tendency, as fraught with dangerous 
consequences. It was plainly so in her case, as, 
I believe, she was first attracted towards those 
who held these fatal errors by their assumption of 
superior sanctity, without investigating the root 
from which it sprang. But, my dear,” continued 
Mr. Stapleton, addressing his wife, “ our time here 
is short. Have you ascertained whether Miss 
Seymour will be willing to transfer her assistance 
to Oakvvood, in the event of its being no longer 
required here?” 

Having received my assurances of the pleasure 
9 * 


KLLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


102 

and thankfulness with which such an exchange 
would on my part be accepted, Mr. Stapleton 
added, “ Beaumont’s infatuation is really marvel- 
lous ! One might have supposed that he would, 
at least, have been somewhat shaken by the start- 
ling event which has occurred, and paused for a 
moment to consider the probability of a like ter- 
mination to his own similar career; but such is the 
blinding effect of error, that it seems to have had 
a quite contrary effect, and to have driven him 
still farther into the gloom of his own shadowy 
system, to the determined exclusion of every ray 
of Gospel light which might shine into it. He 
persists in maintaining that his brother’s defection, 
so far from being the result of the semi-popish 
doctrines of Tractarianism, is attributable alone to 
the low state of religion in the Anglo-Catholic 
Church, as he terms it, within whose chill and 
deadening precincts the spirit of fervent piety is, 
it seems, unable to find a congenial atmosphere.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton left for home early in 
the evening ; and notwithstanding the pleasing pros- 
pect which their visit had been the means of open- 
ing to me, I was, on their departure, oppressed by 
a peculiar sense of loneliness and desolation which 
seemed to steal over me with a benumbing influ- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


103 


ence, incapacitating me alike for meeting the difli- 
culties of the present, or looking forward with 
hope to brighter visions of the future. Neither is 
there anything in the scene around me to dispel 
these feelings. Mrs. Beaumont resumed her place 
in the family this morning, looking the picture of 
hopeless dejection, yet calm and composed, as if 
by a terrible effort she had succeeded in effacing 
every trace of emotion from her countenance and 
demeanour. Mr. Beaumont embraced the first 
opportunity which offered, to introduce the subject 
of Miss Delamotte’s amended health, and conse- 
quent return to the Rectory, and he expressed in 
decided terms the satisfaction which both Mrs. 
Beaumont and himself derived from the plan, 
which they understood was in contemplation, of 
my going to Oakwood immediately, on leaving 
their house. Mrs. Beaumont said little or nothing ; 
but by her manner she appeared to acquiesce in 
her husband’s sentiments. Nothing could be more 
delicate and polite than his mode of speaking on 
these subjects ; yet I thought I could plainly dis- 
cern the secret satisfaction which he felt at the 
prospect of my departure, and the reinstatement of 
Miss Delamotte in the office of preceptress to his 
children. With regard to the time of my leaving 


104 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


nothing is yet decided, as I begged they would 
only consult their own conv^enience, being assured 
that Mrs. Stapleton would receive me whenever 
they had no farther occasion for my services. It 
is a great relief to my mind, that this subject has 
thus been entered upon, and that my leaving is 
now regarded as a settled thing, yet still there is 
much to try my feelings, and the unfeigned regret 
expressed by my little pupils completely over- 
comes my fortitude. When I returned to them 
after my conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Beau- 
mont, they at once guessed the cause of my 
sorrowful looks. 

“ Ah, I know what makes you look so melan- 
choly,” said Clara taking my hand, which she 
covered with tears and kisses, “ it is because you 
are going to leave us — my uncle was talking to 
papa about it yesterday ; but you need not cry, 
dear Miss Seymour, you will be happy, for you 
are' going to live at dear, dear Oakwood.” 

“ But what shall we do without you ?” said 
Agatha, “ I don’t love Miss Delamotte half as well 
as I do you, and everything is so changed since 
our uncle Francis became a Roman Catholic ; 
dear mamma looks so ill, and does nothing but 
cry.— Oh, I wish you would stay, and never, never 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


105 


leave us,” said the affectionate child, throwing her 
arms around me, while the tears rolled down her 
fair, white cheek. 

You may be sure that my own flowed fast at 
' the sight of the ingenuous grief of these sweet 
children, the peculiarity of whose circumstances 
has endeared them to me in a way which, had the 
choice been mine, would have inseparably attach- 
ed me to them. But for myself I know it is all 
rightly ordered, and I do desire to return hearty 
thanks to God for taking me out of a position so 
dangerous to my spiritual welfare, while, at the 
same time my cup of joy is mingled with sadness 
when I think of Mrs. Beaumont and her precious 
little ones exposed to the fiery darts and subtle 
wiles of the enemy of souls. May the Lord be 
their shield and buckler, as He has been mine. I 
must not add another line to this long letter. 

Ever your affectionate Child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

The Rectory, April ^Oth. 

. . . You must not be surprised if the style 

of my letters is not of the most cheering kind, as 
everything around me partakes of a tone of de- 
pression, above which the most elastic spirit would 


]()(; ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 

find it difficult to rise. Ever since the events took 
place which I recorded in my last, a settled gloom 
and deathlike stillness have pervaded the house; 
we all move about stealthily, and speak in half 
whispers, as if we feared to be the means of arous- 
ing to action certain hidden agents of evil, whose 
awakened energies were to be employed in hasten- 
ing on some awful catastrophe. 1 see very little 
of Mr. Beaumont, as when not engaged in the 
public services of the Church, he confines himself 
almost entirely to his own apartments, viz.: his 
study and oratory, and within the precincts of the 
latter, I believe I am right in saying, that no 
human being but himself ever enters. He now 
seldom even takes his meals with his family, and 
from his worn and emaciated appearance, the 
anxiety of his wife respecting him, and other cor- 
roborative circumstances, I am without a doubt 
that his time is chiefly spent in fastings and vigils. 
The meed of sincerity, no one who lives under his 
roof can withhold from Mr. Beaumont — there is 
something so unworldly in his life, so real in his 
aspirations after holiness, so conscientious in his 
very Jesuitism, and so dignified in his observance 
of even the merest puerilities of his system, that 
one cannot help feeling for him a respect border- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


107 


ing on admiration, mingled with regret that one 
so excellent should be the dupe of falsehood, and 
the minister of error, being thus alike the deceiver 
and deceived. Mrs. Beaumont also spends much 
of her time alone, and though her manner to me 
is not only kind, but even affectionate, yet she has 
relapsed into her former state of reserve, seeming 
afraid to trust herself' to speak on those subjects 
which are, I am sure, nearest her heart and 
thoughts. My little pupils are, therefore, my con- 
stant and only companions, and in them I feel a 
daily growing interest. Not that they were ever 
to me otherwise than interesting, for I have always 
considered them to be peculiarly so, but of late 
there has been in many respects a marked im- 
provement in their dispositions and habits. They 
are so much more open and natural than formerly, 
and there is so much more of real effort to merit 
approbation, than merely to obtain it without de- 
serving it. Since I have had the care of them it 
has been my unceasing endeavour, though feebly 
enough I am painfully sensible, to lead them to 
search the motives of their actions, and to bring 
them to the unerring standard of the Word of 
God ; and though at first I found many difficulties 
in the way of this, from their habits of thought 


108 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


having been so led to run in the direction of out- 
ward things, such as forms and ceremonies, and 
rites and ordinances, yet I think I have at last 
succeeded in impressing on them the necessity of 
something deeper than these, if they would abide 
the scrutiny of the all-seeing eye of a heart-search- 
ing God. And yet how little is it that I am able 
to teach them on these vitally important points — 
how limited is my knowledge — how deep my ig- 
norance ! Often do I feel myself unequal to answer 
the questions, or correct the fallacious opinions 
even of these children, into whose young minds 
error has been sedulously, and only too success- 
fully instilled. Yesterday evening Clara opened 
a small box, which she 'generally keeps locked 
with great care, and which she calls her ‘ box of 
relics,’ because it contains several little curiosities 
and keepsakes, and said, “ Now, Miss Seymour, I 
am going to show you something, which I have 
never shown you before — the keepsake which 
Miss Delamotte gave me when she went away.” 

“ Oh, yes, and I will get my ‘ box of relics,’ and 
show you mine too,” cried Agatha ; “ wait till I 
have taken out mine, Clara,” and so saying, each 
produced a small and very beautiful gold cross, 
which they kissed with an air of reverence before 


I 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 109 

placing in my liand — “ are they not beautiful 
“Very beautiful — and they are a present from 
Miss Delamotte?” said I. 

“ Yes, a keepsake,” answered they both. “ When 
Miss Delamotte went away,” continued Clara, 
“ she gave us these crosses, and told us not to 
play with them, for that a cross was a holy thing, 
but to suspend them by a ribbon round our necks, 
and to kps them, and handle them reverently, and 
fix our eyes upon them when we said our prayers, 
that they might remind us of the blessed Saviour’s 
dying for us, and that we had been signed with the 
sign of the cross in our baptism, in token that we 
promised to be his faithful soldiers and followers 
to our life’s end.” 

“ And have you done so ?” asked I. 

“ No, mamma did not like us to wear them 
round our necks, nor to use them when we said 
our prayers, though papa said he did not see any 
harm in it, but we never did, because mamma ob- 
jected to it ; and after you came we put them quite 
away, because we were sure you would not ap- 
prove of them.” 

“ And why should you have thought so ?” in- 
quired I. 

“ I don’t exactly know,” replied Clara, “ but 
10 


110 


EI.LEIV SEYMOUR ; OR, 


after we had that conversation with you about 
nuns and nunneries, we were sure you would not.” 

“ Oh, my dear children,” said I, “ let us ask. 
What says the Word of God. Repeat the first 
and second commandments.” They did so; — 
“ Now here you see the Lord forbids our making 
‘ any graven image, or the likeness of anything 
in the heaven above, the earth beneath, or the 
water under the earth,’ ‘ to bow down to it, or 
worship it.’ Are you not then breaking this com- 
mandment in doing reverence to this ‘ graven 
image,’ this piece of carved work in the shape of 
a cross?” 

“ But we did not bow down to it, nor worship 
it, dear Miss Seymour,” said Agatha. 

“ Perhaps not, but a kiss is a mark of reverence 
and homage, and the next step would be to bow 
down to it and worship it. Oh, my beloved chil- 
dren, worship him who hung upon the cross for 
the sins of his creatures ; ‘ Kiss the Son, lest He 
be angry, and so you perish from the way.’ — Bow 
down to Him of whom God the Father has said, 
‘ At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, of 
things in heaven, and things in earth, and things 
under the earth,’ (Phil. ii. 10,) but offer not the 
homage due to Him alone, to a senseless piece of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


Ill 


wood or gold, ‘ graven by art and man’s device.’ ” 
I spoke earnestly, and the dear children seemed 
much affected, and promising that they would 
never again be guilty of such idolatry, they said, 
“ But what shall we do with our crosses. Miss 
Seymour ?” 

“ Keep them, my dears, in remembrance, and 
for the sake of' Miss Delamotte, but never connect 
them in any way with the name and sufferings of 
Christ, nor use them when you are attempting to 
think of, or pray to him.” 

Really, without any breach of charity, I cannot 
help feeling, that the epithet applied by Mr. Gold- 
ing to Agnes Beaumont of a ‘Jesuit in petticoats,’ 
is actually true of Miss Delamotte. I felt in duty 
bound to communicate what had passed to Mrs. 
Beaumont, that she might watch against the insi- 
dious working of error in the education of her 
children. — She heard me with attention, thanked 
me, and said with deep emotion, “ I know it all, 
my dear, I know it all, and suspect far worse even 
than this : — pray for us ; entreat all who love the 
Lord to pray for us !” and with these words she 
left the room, apparently overcome by her feelings. 

The day of my departure is finally fixed for 
next week. Mr. Stapleton has kindly said he 


J 12 ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 

shall come for me himself, which I am thankful 
for, as I shall feel his presence a support under the 
trial of separation. You will not, therefore, pro- 
bably, hear from me again, my beloved mother, 
until I date my letter from Oakwood. Meanwhile, 
I remain, as ever. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, May 6th. 

My dearest mamma will, I know, be rejoiced to 
hear that I am at last safely sheltered beneath the 
roof of this hospitable abode of Christian peace 
and love. From some mistake in the arrange- 
ments, for, I believe, it was not at all desired that 
we should meet, Miss Delamotte arrived the day 
before I left. She is a tall, commanding looking 
personage, of a dignified port and grave severity 
of mien ; very much, indeed, such as I should pic- 
ture to myself befitting the superior of a convent 
in the olden time. When she unbends, her man- 
ners are, however, extremely captivating, possess- 
ing a great deal of that peculiar fascination which 
belongs to her French original. She was particu- 
larly gracious to me, although she could not be 
flattered either at her own reception, which on 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


113 


Mrs. Beaumont’s part was pointedly cold, or at the 
unfeigned regret expressed at my leaving. The 
children appear to look up to her with timid awe, 
as to a being of a higher order, of whose benevo- 
lence they are not perfectly assured ; while on me 
they lavish such caresses as they would bestow on 
a loved and loving elder sister. 

Mr. Stapleton arrived in his phaeton yesterday 
morning, but we did not leave for Oakwood until 
after an early dinner. I cannot dwell upon the 
parting scene; the silent tears of Mrs. Beaumont, 
and the unsuppressed grief of the children, were 
most affecting, and it was with difficulty that I 
could tear myself away from the again and again 
repeated embraces of these dear little ones. But 
of all this scene, nothing so touched my heart as 
the appearance of Mr. Beaumont, as he assisted 
me into the carriage, and with a melancholy air 
waived his hand in token of adieu, while not a 
smile played upon his colourless lip, or illumined 
the deep dejection of his once bright and piercing, 
but now dimmed and sunken eye. There he stood, 
the very personification of the victim of a delusive 
creed, with its harvest of withered hopes, unsatis- 
fied aspirations, and misdirected energies. . . . 

We reached Oakvvood, after a delightful drive 
10 * 


114 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


through the most lovely rural scenery, about six 
o’clock in the evening. The morning had been 
rainy, and the plentiful showers which had fallen 
had refreshed the face of nature, so that when the 
sun again shone out with unusual brilliancy, you 
cannot imagine anything more enchanting than 
the prospect which everywhere met the eye. I 
was fortunate in having a travelling companion 
who could sympathize in my enjoyment. Mr. 
Stapleton is a warm admirer of the beauties of 
nature, but then he never seems to rest in them, 
his own mind is always, as it were, on the wing 
from earth to heaven, and he constantly seeks to 
impress upon the minds of others that lovely and 
majestic as are the works of God in creation, how 
small a part of his glory they display in compa- 
rison with thnt which is revealed in the Scriptures, 
and manifested in the incarnation of Christ, and 
his coming into the world to die for sinners. He 
says that one verse, “The Word was made flesh, 
and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the 
glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of 
grace and truth,” (John i. 14,) contains wonders 
more sublime and stupendous than can be found 
in all the marvels of the created universe put 
together. I am ashamed to confess that such 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


115 


thoughts as these are almost new to me ; I fear I 
have hitherto been searching after God in the book 
of Nature rather than in the page of Inspiration ; 
and I find it very difficult to disengage my mind 
from these visible glories, and raise it to the con- 
templation of those unseen realities, which form the 
theme of divine revelation. At a sudden turn in 
the road, at which a most exquisite landscape burst 
upon our view, I saw that Mr. Stapleton’s eye was 
attracted to a particular spot, while in reply to my 
rapturous expressions of delight, he said, “ It is 
beautiful, most beautiful ; but I can show you 
something. Miss Seymour, far more really lovely 
and interesting even than this.” He then directed 
my attention to a small cottage, at a little distance 
from the road-side, from the door of w'hich an old 
woman was coming out with a pitcher in her 
hand. “ In that humble cottage,” said he, “dwells 
a family of believers in Jesus, and that old woman 
has been a disciple of her blessed Master for more 
than fifty years — surely this aged pilgrim is a spec- 
tacle of surpassing interest ; and what wonder in 
nature so astonishing as that her decrepid and tot- 
tering frame, bowed dowm with age and infirmi- 
ties, should be, ‘ a temple of the Holy Ghost !’ 
Here is a miracle, indeed ; and one which nothing 


116 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


short of the teaching of that same Holy Ghost can 
enable us to believe. I hope you will one day 
make the acquaintance of this precious family — 
‘ poor in this world, but rich in faith, and heirs\ of 
the kingdom.’ ” 

The next turn in the road brought us within 
sight of Oakwood, beautifully situated on the side 
of a verdant slope, embosomed, not smothered, 
in trees ; the pretty village, with its small grey 
church, reposing in the vale below. Nature has 
done so much for the grounds around the house, 
that the work of art is scarcely distinguishable, but 
the two are so judiciously blended together, that 
they form a harmonious whole of the most pleas- 
ing description. The house is built in the cot- 
tage style, surrounded with verandahs and trellis- 
work, covered with roses and all kinds of beautiful 
creepers. The gates were set open at our ap- 
proach, and as we drove up a number of little fairy 
beings were seen flitting about in the verandah, 
evidently in anxious expectation of our arrival. 
When the carriage stopped they w'ere all assem- 
bled, with their mamma, at the door; and as soon 
as their papa had assisted me to alight, the whole 
of the smiling group surrounded him with one ac- 
cord, loading him with caresses, and evincing 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


117 


every demonstration of joy and affection.; while 
Mrs. Stapleton, in the kindest and most cordial 
manner, welcomed me to Oak wood. She then 
introduced me to her children as “ a dear and 
particular friend of her own.” One sweet little 
rosy girl immediately whispered to her little bro- 
ther, “ I am sure I shall love her, because mamma 
loves her;” and then one and all desired to be em- 
ployed in my service ; one offering to relieve me 
of my parasol, another of my work-basket, a third 
petitioning to be allowed to carry my writing-desk, 
while a fourth requested to show me the way to 
my room. All this was done with the most per- 
fect simplicity, as far removed from effect or de- 
sign as from forwardness or familiarity. 

When I returned to the sitting-room, after hav- 
ing taken off my things, I found Mrs. Stapleton 
alone at the tea-table ; she said, “ Our party is 
small this evening, as Mr. Stapleton is taking his 
tea in Salome’s apartment. You have not yet 
seen our eldest daughter, Miss Seymour; but you 
have heard of the affliction which prevents her 
forming a part of our family circle. I hope to in- 
troduce you to each other after tea. She is deeply 
interested in your history; and, I believe, you vvill 
be no less so in hers; and I look forward with 


118 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


pleasure to your becoming not only companions, 
but friends.” 

As soon as tea was ovm*, Mrs. Stapleton led the 
way to her daughter’s apartments; they consist of 
two rooms, a parlour and bedroom, opening one 
into the other, and on the ground-floor. They are 
most pleasantly situated, commanding a beautiful 
view of the grounds and the distant country. The 
sitting-room is furnished with everything which 
can afford comfort and pleasure to an invalid of 
cultivated mind; books, music, drawings and every 
variety of needlework in profusion. But I must 
not dwell too long on the apartments, but hasten 
to describe the inmate to whose use they are ap- 
propriated. On a low couch, so placed that she 
could enjoy a full view of the distant prospect, her 
hand locked in that of her father, who was silting 
by her side, his eyes fixed upon her countenance, 
with a look of tenderness and affection which I 
can never forget, but shall not attempt to depict, 
lay Salome Stapleton, the most lovely and interest- 
ing being I ever beheld. Do not think that in thus 
describing her I am merely painting a creature of 
my own imagination; no, dear mamma, such she 
really is, for, independently of the faultless sym- 
metry of her features, their expression is so exqui- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


119 

sitely touching and beautiful, that it would impart 
interest to the most ordinary countenance. Her 
manner is equally captivating with her appearance, 
being gentle and refined, at the same time that it 
is open, animated, and even playful, and without a 
shade of affectation. I could not help contrasting 
it in my own mind with that of our poor little in- 
valid friend, Lydia Aspen, with her languishing 
air, lisping voice, and sickly softness of manner, 
taxing to the uttermost the time and patience of all 
her friends and attendants. This sweet girl, on 
the contrary, never allows any assistance to be 
rendered her, if it be possible for her to assist her- 
self, and she seems to study how to give the leasts 
amount of trouble to others. This has, I believe, 
been made one chief point in her education, by 
her judicious parents, who have thus endeavoured 
to counteract the evil of selfishness, so commonly 
fostered in those who, from infirmity, are the ob- 
jects of constant watchfulness and solicitude. She 
received me most affectionately; but I had little 
or no conversation with her then, as an interdict 
was laid by her father upon her talking any more 
that evening, as she was already fatigued, having 
exerted herself more than usual in finishing .some 
articles of clothing for a poor, distressed family in 
the neighbourhood. 


120 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


The family worship here appears to me particu- 
larly profitable, though I dare not say that I can 
enter into its depth of spirituality; still I do greatly 
enjoy it, as the exposition of Scripture is so simple, 
yet so full of power and reality; and then the 
prayer is so completely the language of filial love, 
reverence and confidence, that it seems to bring 
the soul into the very presence of God as a Father, 
hearing and answering the petitions of his children. 
I have had, to-day, a great deal of conversation 
with Mr. and Mi's. Stapleton, but how different 
from the scrutiny I underwent on a similar occa- 
sion from Mr. Beaumont ! My morning hours are 
to be employed in the instruction of the second and 
third daughters, Rosa and Emily, interesting chil- 
dren of seven and ten years old ; the afternoon is 
to be devoted, in the way of companionship, to the 
sweet Salome. Can you imagine a more delight- 
ful occupation than mine here promises to be? The 
Stapletons have never before had a regular go- 
verness in their family, not that they will allow me 
to call myself by that name, they say they I'egard 
me in the light of a friend who has kindly consent- 
ed to assist them in the care of their childi'en. It 
is very kind of them to speak in this way; and, 
indeed, they seem to endeavour to make me forget 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


121 


the change which has taken place in my situation 
in life, but I do not wish to forget it myself, so as 
to render me in the smallest degree neglectful of ' 
any duty I have to perform. Salome Stapleton’s 
education has been almost entirely directed by her 
father, and as her abilities are very superior, they 
have amply repaid the culture bestowed upon 
them. The eldest boy, who is about nine years old, 
has just been sent to school, and Rosa has hitherto 
been instructed by her mother. There is a very 
nice person in this household, a Mrs. Wilson; she 
is something between an upper servant and a nur- 
sery governess, but partaking more of the latter 
character. She has the charge of the younger 
children, as after two years old they are taken out 
of the hands of servants, and committed to her 
management, which forms a nice gradation be- 
tween the nursery and the school-room. My two 
pupils also walk out with her, and are under her 
eye when school hours are over; not that there is 
at all the same system of constant inspection kept 
up here as at the Rectory, as Mr. Stapleton consi- 
ders it injurious to the minds of young people never 
to be permitted to think and act for themselves. 
The children here are allowed much freedom in 
this respect, on condition that they neither disagree 
11 


122 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


among themselves, nor waste their time, but whe- 
ther at work or at play that they do it with all 
their heart. At the end of the day they are often 
required to give an account of the manner in which 
it has been spent, and particularly with reference 
to the hours which are called their own ; and this 
little inquiry is of itself sufficient to check minor 
evils, and to act as a stimulus to a right course 
of action. 

I was greatly interested in many of the observa- 
tions made by Mr. Stapleton on the subject of the 
education of children. The leading principle which 
he aims to carry out in the management of his own 
family is this ; — to take God himself as the exam- 
ple, and his Word as the directory for all circum- 
stances and on every occasion. He says, the 
question of a Christian parent, with regard to his 
children, should not be so much, ‘ What shall I do,’ 
as, ‘What should I he, that I may set Christ be- 
fore them in all the loveliness of his character and 
waysT’ I was at first rather startled at hearing 
him speak of all his children, except Salome, as 
unconverted and destitute of divine grace, while 
at the same time he expresses the fullest confidence 
that the Lord will bless his sincere endeavours ‘ to 
bring them up in his nurture and admonition,’ by 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


123 


converting their souls, and leading them, through 
the power of the Holy Ghost, to the saving know- 
ledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. And to this 
end, he believes no means will be more owned and 
blessed of God, than the setting before them the 
example of the Lord Jesus when on earth, and 
especially to lead their minds to contemplate Him 
in his childhood and youth, and to consider how 
he would have acted under circumstances which, 
though not exactly alike, were yet similar in prin- 
ciple to their own. For instance, he would re- 
commend the attention of children being particu- 
larly directed to such portions of Scripture as 1 
Cor. xiii. and the Beatitudes in Matthew v., which 
so beautifully, and, as it were, at full length, set 
forth the mind and character of the Lord Jesus, 
and that these and similar portions should be used 
in the way of check to dispositions of a contrary 
kind, and as a motive and encouragement to the 
exercise of the better and kindlier feelings. 

“ But yet,” said I, “ you would not allow that 
anyone who is unconverted is really able to follow 
the example and obey the precepts of Christ ?” 

“ It is true,” replied Mr. Stapleton, “ that we 
cannot expect the Spirit of God to work in their 
hearts as he does in those of the regenerate; but. 


2 24 ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 

then, as I have already said, I believe that Christian 
parents, taking the Lord as their example, and his 
word as their rule, and seeking to order their walk 
and conversation according to this divine pattern, 
would thus become examples to their children, who 
would see in them the reflection of the light of the 
Lord’s countenance, and be attracted by it to imi- 
tate in their own conduct that which is so lovely 
in their parents. Besides, if we desire the con- 
version of our children, what means so effectual 
as the word of God? If we would dispel natural 
darkness, there is no other way than by the admit- 
tance of light ; and so with spiritual darkness, it 
can only be dispelled by the light of truth, ‘ the 
entrance of thy word giveth light, it giveth under- 
standing unto the simple.’ Let us, then, as Chris- 
tian parents or teachers, be ever seeking to make 
the word of God the reason and rule of all the 
demands we make upon our children ; let us speak 
to them something after this manner, ‘Now the 
Lord, because I am his child, forbids me to do so 
and so, or commands me to act in such and such a 
way ; and because you are my child 1 require you 
to do the same towards me, as God requires of me 
towards Him,’ and I believe,” continued he, “ if 
this method were adopted in faith and dependance 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


125 


upon God, and we were all, as I have observed 
before, to be thinking less of what we ought to do 
in training our children, and more of what we 
ought to be as children of a heavenly Father — if it 
were more our blessed custom to cast them in faith 
and prayer upon the Lord, He would graciously 
take the management of our families into his own 
hands — He would say of the parents, ‘ they are 
good and pleasant children unto me, and I will take 
care that their children are so to them.’” 

Farewell, my dearest mamma. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakivood, May 2\st. 

. . . . I have now been here one fortnight, 

and every day I discover fresh cause to thank God 
for having brought me into this delightful family. 
My affections, which, since I parted from you, my 
beloved mother, have been, as it were, pent up in 
my own bosom, for want of kindred spirits, to 
whom they could freely flow forth, are beginning 
again to expand, and to find a response of feeling 
and sentiment, which reminds me of what I used 
to enjoy in by-gone days. Now, that I am so hap- 
pily situated, T do not mind speaking to you of the 
11 * 


12G 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


sorrows of the past, though I fear your tender 
heart must have been often pained by the tone of 
my former letters, which on many occasions too 
plainly betrayed the trials I was passing through, ' 
and the little power I had to endure the^n. Just* 
now m^ only remaining trial is on your account, 
and that of my beloved father, <as on my own I 
really almost begin to rejoice that any circum- 
stances, however adverse, have been the means of 
introducing me to such persons as those I am now 
among, of whose existence, and still more proba- 
bly of whose principles, I might otherwise have 
remained all my life in ignorance. These thoughts 
have not sprung up in my mind of their own ac- 
cord, but are the result, chiefly, of several conver- 
sations I have had with Salome Stapleton on the 
subject of affliction, as also of witnessing her 
beautiful resignation of spirit under trials and 
sufferings of no common order. When I first 
came here, I used to look upon her with astonish- 
ment, as it was perfectly incomprehensible to me 
how so young and lovely a creature could be 
always happy and contented, yet knowing that her 
whole life was to be spent in languor, pain, and 
helplessness, and in the privation of all those inno- 
cent enjoyments, in M'hich youth so naturally de- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


127 


lights. Athough these thoughts were unexpressed 
in words, I think she read them in my countenance, 
as one day when I was endeavouring to place her 
in a more easy position, she said to me with a 
sweet smile, “ I dare say, my dear Miss Seymour, 
you think it is a sad thing to see a young girl like 
myself constantly confined to a couch, without any 
prospect of leaving it except for the grave? I can 
well remember the time, when 1 was as light of 
foot as they are,” continued she, pointing to her 
brothers and sisters, who were bounding before 
the windows like little playful fawns. — “ It would, 
indeed, be melancholy to witness your afflicted, 
state, my dear Miss Stapleton” — 

“ Oh, you must not call me ‘ Miss Stapleton.’ ” 

“ Well, then, my dear Salome, were it not for 
the wonderful patience, and even cheerfulness, 
with which you are enabled to bear it, and which 
to me has in it, I confess, something of the super- 
natural.” 

“ And so far as it is the efiect of divine grace it 
is supernatural,” said she simply, “ for though I 
am surrounded by every thing which can tend to 
minister comfort and alleviate suffering, yet had I 
nothing beyond and above all this, it would utterly 
fail to compensate for what I have lost, and I should 


I 


|2y ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 

be sad and repininc;, if not actually discontented 
and miserable.” 

“ I cannot tell to you the consolation it is to me 
to hear you speak thus,” replied I, “ for I had 
looked upon you as a kind of angelic being, who 
could have no feelings in common with such a 
mere piece of humanity as myself.” 

She smiled, but immediately after an air of 
seriousness overspread her lovely countenance, 
and she said, “ I am sorry I should have conveyed 
to you so erroneous an impression, for, indeed, I 
do wish to appear only what I am — a sinner saved 
by grace.” 

“ You must forgive me, my dear Salome, but 
when you speak of yourself as a sinner, I do not 
exactly understand what you mean — of course I 
know that the whole human race are sinners in 
general, and I can feel that I am a sinner in par- 
ticular, because as far as age and circumstances 
would permit, I have mixed in the world, and 
found delight, at least, in what are termed its 
rational pleasures, and innocent amusements. For 
instance, the time I spent on the Continent was a 
time of positive enchantment — music, painting, 
architecture, the beauties of nature, and refine- 
ments of society — every thing, in short, which 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


129 


could please ihe taste, and feast the imagination, 
but I now see all this to have been sinful, because 
it was really leading my heart away from God, 
while I foolishly fancied — that is when I thought 
at all upon the subject — that I was fulfilling the 
end of my existence by taking as large a grasp as 
possible of the enjoyments which came within my 
reach.” 

“ Yes, the opportunity of gratifying the desires 
of the heart has been afforded to you, while it has 
been withheld from me, but then the heart itself, 
and its desires are by nature essentially the same 
in both.” 

“ How do you know this to be the case ?” 

“From the word of God, and also, in some 
measure, from my own experience — the Scripture 
tells us that ‘ as in water face answereth to face, 
so the heart of man to man.’ ” (Prov. xxvii. 19.) 

Perceiving that I still looked incredulous, she 
said, “To convince you that what I say is true, I 
will give you a sketch of my history from my 
earliest years, though necessarily in such a life as 
mine there can be but little to interest any, except- 
ing, that like yourself, they take pleasure in tracing 
the rise and progress of divine life in the soul. 

“ My dear father is, as you see, most tenderly 


130 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


attached to all his family, but if ever he loved one 
of his children, I will not say better^ but more 'pe- 
culiarly, than another, that one was myself. I was 
the eldest, and till Rosa’s birth the only one; as the 
two brothers, who came next to me, died very 
young. It is a fact, which I cannot now conceal 
from myself, and which my dearest papa has long 
since fully admitted, that I was the idol of his 
heart, the object in which he too much centred his 
hopes, wishes, and affections. I was considered 
to have a genius for music ; and as no pains nor 
expense was spared to cultivate this, as well as any 
other talent I might possess, I soon made conside- 
rable progress, and was looked upon as a kind of 
infant prodigy. I had also the reputation of being 
a very amiable child; and so, perhaps, I was as 
to my external deportment, as I had nothing to 
ruffle my temper, or disturb my self-complacency ; 
but I well recollect the vanity and emulation which 
fired my little bosom, and so ambitious was I to 
excel, that I thought no labour too great to attain 
any end I had in view, and often do I think that 
my illness was partly brought on by too intense 
application to my studies. 

“When I was about nine years old, my dear 
papa, in his anxiety to obtain for me first-rate in- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWtR. 


131 


struction, particularly in music, determined on 
leaving Oakwood, and taking a house at Hamp- 
stead. The arrangements were almost completed, 
when I was seized with a violent rheumatic fever, 
which after weeks of torturing pain reduced me to 
the very borders of the grave, and finally deprived 
me of the use of my limbs, rendering me a cripple 
for life. At first, joy that my life was spared pre- 
vented my dear parents from realizing the extent 
*f the misfortune which had befallen me; but 
when every remedy had been trjed and failed, and 
medical men ceased to hold out any hope of 
amendment, well do I remember the state of sor- 
row and despair into which my beloved papa was 
plunged; for as to my precious mother, she had 
from her youth been accustomed to derive conso- 
lation from the promises of the Word of God, and 
never shall I forget the day, when, after a consulta- 
tion of physicians, with the same hopeless result, 
she said to papa, who was in an agony of grief, 

‘ My beloved Arthur, let us cease from man, and 
seek for comfort in God;’ and opening her Bible, 
she read the sixty-second Psalm. This sweet por- 
tion of Scripture, and the conversation which arose 
out of it, were blessed in calming the agitation of 
papa’s mind, and in giving him resignation to the 


132 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Divine will, and from that time, I believe, he dates 
the commencement of spiritual life in his soul : but 
far different was the effect produced upon me. I 
was then nearly ten years old — old enough to 
gather from what was passing that my condition 
was irremediably hopeless, and oh ! I cannot tell 
you the feelings of rebellion, misery, and despair, 
which took possession of my mind. I was too 
proud to give utterance to these emotions, but thej^ 
rankled in my bosom, and could not long remain 
concealed from the tenderly-watchful eye of my 
dear papa. He said all he could to soothe and 
comfort me, but I refused to be comforted, and 
even felt angry with him for having obtained a 
peace to which I was a stranger. What wounds 
my sinful repinings inflicted on his already aching 
heart! especially as he always took the blame of 
all my evil tempers on himself, considering them 
as the fruit of his own excessive fondness and in- 
dulgence. 

“ I perfectly recollect saying to him one day, 
when he had been endeavouring by every argu- 
ment to reconcile me to my condition, ‘Oh, papa, 
I did not think you would have ceased to feel for 
me ! — how can I be resigned to lie on this couch 
all my life, and to give up my music and every 


TFIE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


133 


other amusement? I wish to be patient, but con- 
tented I never can be with such a dreadful lot as 
mine.’ I then burst into a passionate fit of weeping, 
and we mingled our tears together. From that 
time papa abstained from seeking to draw out my 
feelings on the subject of my afflictions, and 
adopted the opposite course of diverting my mind 
from them, by encouraging me to resume such of 
my studies and amusements as were still adapted 
to my present invalid condition. At the same time 
he and dear mamma were unceasing in their sup- 
plications at a throne of grace, that my heart 
might be renewed by the Holy Spirit, and ‘ Christ 
formed in it the hope of glory.’ The answer to 
these prayers was not fully manifested till I was 
about twelve years old, as in my case the change 
from darkness to light was very gradual, though 
still not so imperceptible as to escape the notice of 
my fond parents, who watched for the dawning of 
divine truth in my soul more anxiously than ‘ they 
who watch for the morning.’ 

“ I recollect when I first began to be myself con- 
scious of feelings entirely different in their nature 
to any I had before experienced ; it was when, as 
I have before said, I was about twelve years old, 
and the occasion is indelibly imprinted on my 
12 


131 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


memory. I was suffering intensely from a violent 
paroxysm of pain, to attacks of which I was then 
subject ; — remedy after remedy had been tried in 
vain. I turned to my father, who was watching 
me in silent agony, and said, ‘ Oh, papa, can’t you 
do anything for me?’ he replied, ‘ My love, I can 
pray for you.’ He then knelt down, and most ear- 
nestly prayed that ‘ the Lord would be pleased in 
his infinite mercy, either to remove the pain, or to 
give me strength and patience to bear it.’ A re- 
medy was again tried, the Lord was graciously 
pleased to make it effectual, and in a few minutes 
I was perfectly relieved from suffering. Papa re- 
marked, ‘ My dear child, God has heard and an- 
swered prayer in your behalf.’ I believed that he 
had; — the conviction was accompanied by an in- 
expressible sense of the Divine goodness, which 
seemed, as it were, to overflow my soul. — I melted 
into tears, and involuntarily exclaimed, ‘God is 
Love — I hioic it — I feel UP What were the feel- 
ings of my beloved parents at that moment I shall 
not attempt to describe; it was the first believing 
acknowledgment of God that had passed my lips, 
and, blessed be his name, it has been their language 
ever since. I have given you this little sketch of 
my life, my dear Miss Seymour, to prove to you 


THR BUD AND TFIE FLOWER. 


135 


that I am not by nature the angelic being you had 
supposed me, and that any degree of patience and 
submission to the Divine will you may observe in 
me is entirely the gift of God and the fruit of his 
Holy Spirit, so that I must end as I began, by 
saying that 1 am nothing more nor nothing less 
than — a sinner saved by graced 

You can imagine, my dear mother, the deep in- 
terest with which I listened to this simple tale of 
truth, and also the many reflections to which it 
gave rise, and which formed the substance of the 
following conversation. 

“ There is one thing, which particularly strikes 
me in your history, my dear Salome, and that is, 
the w^ay in which deep affliction has been made 
the channel of spiritual blessings.” 

“Yes, both my dear father and myself can truly 
say, ‘it is good for us to have been afflicted, that 
we might learn the Lord’s statutes;’ and surely, 
dear Ellen, you can say the same respecting your 
own trials, for you confess, that ‘ before you were 
afflicted you went astray,’ after the world and its 
pleasures, instead of which you are now desiring 
to know and do the will of God.” 

“Yes, I do desire it, but oh, how' feebly, how 
faintly ! — I w’ish I could feel that powerful im- 


13G 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


pression of divine things, which was vouchsafed 
to you and your papa. — I seem to need an irresist- 
ible impulse, to compel my doubting, hesitating 
soul to lay hold on the hope set before it in the 
gospel.” 

“ Do you not remember what papa was saying 
this morning, that we have no ground to expect a 
special or supernatural call, apart from the word of 
God ; but that it is by belief of the truth, by recep- 
tion of the word, by faith in the testimony of Scrip- 
ture concerning Christ, that we obtain peace and 
gladness, and therefore the stronger our faith the 
more of these we shall enjoy ? But we must not 
despise the day of small things ; and it seems to 
to me, my dear Miss Seymour, that the Lord has 
already done great things for you, particularly as 
you have hitherto had many outward hindrances 
to your growth in grace and knowledge. But you 
must talk to papa and mamma on these subjects, 
for you know I am only a child in years and a babe 
in grace, and it is great kindness and condescen- 
sion in you to listen to such an one.” 

“ You are exactly the teacher I want, dear Sa- 
lome, because, like myself, though of a different 
kind, you have trials and sorrows, and you feel 
them to he trials, and yet are enabled to bear them 


TUE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


137 


with calmness and even cheerfulness, because you 
have proved them to be for your good ; now it is 
this secret which I so desire to learn in my own 
case, for I will own to you that I have often had 
most painful feelings of distress and repining at my 
change of circumstances, and I have even some- 
times been tempted to hard thoughts of God for 
allowing me, and particularly my dear parents, to 
suffer such troubles and privations. Rut now, 
hope again springs up, and whispers — May not the 
Lord have a purpose of mercy in all this ?” 

“I am so delighted to hear you speak in this 
way, because it is just what we have all felt about 
you ever since we knew any thing of your inter- 
esting history. And even in those things which 
you deplore as wrong, such as the time you spent 
on the Continent, how plainly, as mamma has ob- 
served, is the hand of God to be seen overruling it 
all for good, as it has been the means of fitting you 
so eminently for the work to which you have de- 
voted yourself — that of education.” 

“Yes, it really does seem so; and I cannot tell 
you how I have been encouraged by the history 
of Joseph, which we are now going through in 
the family worship, and the remarks which Mr. 
Stapleton makes upon it are so full of comfort — 
12 * 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


138 

showing that all the depths of affliction into which 
Joseph was brought, were appointed of God to 
bring about in the end the greatest blessings to 
himself and family.” 

“ Then let us take care how we say with Jacob, 

‘ All these things are against me,’ ” said Salome, 
smiling. “ You know that beautiful hymn of Cow- 
per’s, which begins — 

‘ God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform 

it is a great favourite of mine, and has often 
spoken peace to my soul when tempted to mur- 
muring and unbelief. The truth contained in it is 
a watchword for our souls in this night season of 
the Lord’s absence, when we are called to walk 
by faith, and not by sight and she repeated those 
those two sweet stanzas — 

“ Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 

But trust him for his grace ; 

Behind a frowning providence 
He hides a smiling face. 

“ His purposes are ripening fast, 

Unfolding every hour ; 

The bud may have a bitter taste. 

But sweet will be the flower.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


139 


I must tell you that Salome and I read the 
Scriptures together daily; and I am equally aston- 
ished and edified by the remarks she makes. I 
fear this sweet, fragile flower will not long bloom 
here below, as besides the loss of the use of her 
limbs, she is in other ways extremely delicate ; she 
is affected by every change in the atmosphere, and 
her nervous system is so susceptible, that she is 
unable to bear the slightest noise or excitement, so 
that from the one cause she is seldom able to enjoy 
the pure air without doors, while from the other 
she is precluded from joining the social circle 
within. Both of these privations I am sure she 
sensibly feels, as she is peculiarly fitted to enjoy 
the pleasures of home in all its branches ; but not 
a murmur ever escapes her lips, though I have seen 
a tear tremble in her eye, and silently bedew her 
gentle cheek, and it is this which makes her so in- 
teresting — that she is no stoic, glorying in crush- 
ing every softer feeling of humanity; nor yet an 
angel, incapable by nature of sin and suffering; 
but a young and tender creature — the very essence 
of sensibility, yet enabled by divine grace to bear 
affliction with a dignity and composure worthy of 
any age or sex. 


140 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


But I must close this, as it is growing late. God 
bless you, my dear mother. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, June 21s/. 

. . . . I have not yet told you much about 

my little pupils here — they are dear, interesting 
children, intelligent and warm-hearted ; and though 
not without faults, they are so nicely trained, that 
their failings seem only to afford an opportunity 
for their papa to exercise the heavenly wisdom 
with which he is endued in discovering and cor- 
recting them. The laws laid down for the regu- 
lation of their conduct are few and simple, but 
strictly enforced — disobedience being reckoned as 
a crime of the greatest enormity. The object kept 
in view is the happiness of the children, by early 
leading their will to acquiesce in that of their pa- 
rents. Mr. Stapleton, who seeks to take the Lord 
for his guide and pattern in all things, says this is 
the way of God in dealing with his children, and 
that the perfection of Christian happiness, as well 
as holiness, is to have no will of our own, but to 
be able with sincerity to say, “ Father, thy will 
be done.” Often do I contrast the frank, artless 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


141 


manners of the children here — never so happy as 
when in their parents’ presence, and their greatest 
punishment to be banished from it — with the unna- 
tural stiffness and timidity of my late pupils at the 
Rectory. Mr. Stapleton considers the over-strict- 
ness with which they are treated as arising from 
two or three causes ; being partly the effect of Mr. 
Beaumont’s natural love of discipline and autho- 
rity — partly of his want of knowledge of human 
nature, which leads him to believe that restraint 
and coercion are the most powerful engines for its 
correction and amendment, and chiefly of his erro- 
neous religious creed, which teaches him that re- 
generation taking place in baptism, it is the duty 
of parents by every means in their power to pre- 
serve to their., children the benefits they then 
received ; and as at that time the Holy Spirit was 
bestowed upon them, it is possible by rigid train- 
ing to keep them from falling into sin, and thus 
violating their baptismal covenant. Poor little 
things ! often do I think of and pray for them ; 
and sad it is to reflect upon the commandments 
of men, which are instilled into their young minds 
for doctrines of Holy Writ. The communica- 
tions between the Rectory and Oakwood are few 
and far between, and we all feel as if there were 


142 


IMJ.KN SKYMOUR; OR, 


something portentous in the silence which reigns 
in that quarter. 

We frequently have a most agreeable addition 
to the family circle in Mr. and Miss Leslie, the 
clergyman of the parish, and his sister. Mr. Les- 
lie is a young man of highly cultivated mind, 
and much in every way that would be admired 
and courted in society; while at the same lime 
he is a devoted Christian, and an indefatigable 
labourer in the Lord’s vineyard. His preaching I 
like better than that of any minister I have ever 
yet heard ; it is so practical, and yet so experi- 
mental, and full of the love of God in Christ Jesus. 
Miss Leslie is also a genuine Christian character, 
and extremely active in promoting both the spi- 
ritual and temporal interests of all around her. 
She is much older than her brother, and very 
clever ; and having seen a great deal of the world, 
is full of anecdote, which she relates in such a 
graphic manner, that she is a most entertaining 
companion. She is a great favourite with the 
children here, among whom she is familiarly 
known by the name of “ Aunt Sophy.” She often 
writes for their amusement and instruction little 
tales, founded on facts M^hich have come under 
her own observation. I enclose you “ her last,” 


THE BUD AND THE FEOWER. 


143 

which has been read here with much interest both 
by young and old, and of which she has kindly 
allowed me to take a copy. It is as much adapt- 
ed to parents as children ; and I think you and I 
are acquainted with a few of both, to whom it 
might furnish some useful hints. 

The inducement to write it was supplied by the 
following circumstance. A visitor having remark- 
ed before the little Stapletons, in speaking of a 
neighbouring family, that “they were nice chil- 
dren, only badly managed,” — when she was gone, 
Rosa said, addressing Miss Leslie, “ Aunt Sophy, 
what do people mean by children being ‘badly 
managed?’ — do they mean that they are allowed 
to do as they please? for I think that must be very 
pleasant sometimes.” 

“ To themselves, or to others, do you/nean, my 
dear ?” 

Rosa, (hesitatingly,) “ To themselves, I believe, 
I meant ; but I do not see why it should be unplea- 
sant to others either.” 

Aunt Sophy. “ That would depend on the way 
in which they used their liberty, as some children 
might please to be rude, or mischievous, or ill- 
natured; and if you met with such, you would be 
glad if some restraint were put upon them, and 


144 


ELLEN SEyMOUR ; OR, 


that they were no longer allowed to do as they 
pleased.” 

Rosa. “Yes, I certainly should; but is there 
no other way in which children may be ‘ badly 
managed’ except by being allowed to do as they 
please V’ 

Aunt Sophy. “ Yes, there are many other ways; 
— their temper may be misunderstood, and unne- 
cessarily tried; or they may be treated too harshly, 
or corrected injudiciously, being punished severely 
for trifling faults, and allowed to commit great 
ones with impunity.” 

Rosa. “ Like Sally Jenkins, who beat her lit- 
tle boy dreadfully for breaking a cup, but never 
punished him at all for stealing farmer Fry’s ap- 
ples, or for the falsehood he told. Have you ever 
known any children, besides poor people’s children, 
who were ‘badly managed,’ Aunt Sophy?” 

Aunt Sophy. “ Yes, my dear, a great many; and 
perhaps one day or other, I may give ydu, in the 
form of a story, some instances of ‘ bad manage- 
ment,’ which have come under my own observa- 
tion.” 

Rosa. “ Oh, thank you, aunt ; that will be de- 
lightful. Will it be a story about real persons ?” 

Aunt Sophy. “ Not so much about real persons 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


145 


as about real facts. The persons, and some things 
connected with them, I shall imagine out of my 
own head ; but the species of ‘ bad management’ 
which I shall describe will be real, taken from 
what I myself have either witnessed, or known to 
be actually true.” 

About a week after this conversation. Miss 
Leslie brought her manuscript, and read to us the 
following little tale, entitled, 

“ Badly Managed ; 

OR, 

The Little School-girls.” 

Mrs. Spencer had two little girls, Charlotte and 
Mary; Charlotte was eleven, and Mary nine years 
old. Charlotte was a lively, active girl, of an open 
disposition, and superior abilities ; but she was 
vain, restless, and impetuous, inclined to pertness 
and self-confidence, and extremely impatient of 
contradiction. 

Mary possessed a good understanding, though 
her abilities were not so shining as her sister’s ; 
her temper was placid, and her manners gentle 
and pleasing, so that she was generally consider- 
ed an amiable little girl; but she was careless, idle, 
and inattentive, and when opposed, manifested a 
determined, though quiet obstinacy of disposition, 
13 


ELLEV 8EYMOUR; OR, 

which was more difficult to detect and overcome 
than if it had assumed the form of open resistance. 

Mrs. Spencer, the mother of these two little 
girls, was what is usually termed an amiable 
woman, and well-disposed towards religion. She 
was also a most tender and affectionate parent, 
and was anxious to train her children rightly ; but, 
like too many other fond parents, she mistook the 
nature of true kindness, and suffered them to have 
too much their own way. Mi*s. Spencer was not 
possessed either of an enlarged understanding, o^ 
much firmness of purpose ; but like most characters 
of this description, though unable to exercise au- 
thority herself, she was extremely tenacious of 
allowing any one else to use it for her. Hence 
she entertained a kind of jealous feeling towards 
all governesses, school-mistresses, or any other 
class of persons who might be supposed to take a 
part in the government of her children. Happily, 
however, for them and for herself, she discovered, 
before it was too late, her own utter incapacity 
for education, and at the time which I have chosen 
for introducing these little girls to my young 
friends, had actually determined on sending them, 
as day-schola.fe, to a school which had long been 
established in the town, near to which they resided. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


147 


This school was kept by a lady of the name of 
Franklin, a sensible, judicious person, and one 
well fitted to discharge the arduous duties she had 
undertaken. Her system of tuition was based on 
sound Christian principles, and aimed therefore 
rather to secure obedience by the inculcation of 
right motives, than to enforce it by the power of 
authority. Her object was so to govern her little 
pupils, that they might in time learn how to govern 
themselves. To this end she sought to gain their 
•affections by convincing their judgment of the 
reasonableness of her requirements — to make them 
love lier laws by respecting them. At the same 
time she was too w’cll acquainted with the depra- 
vity of the human heart, to suppose that in all 
cases the justice and propriety of her commands 
would alone ensure obedience to them.^ She was 
aware of the necessity of correction and discipline 
to the training’ of youth, and she shrank not from 
their dut^ppRcation when that necessity became 
evident. Mrs. Franklin’s school was composed of 
a lisnited number of young persons, twelveboard- 
ers, and six day-scholars completed her gstablish- 
ment. She w^^ no stranger to the peculiar 
difficulties attendant on the education of the latter 
description of pupils. Their constant intercourse 


148 


liLLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


with home, the daily repetition of petty grievances 
real or imaginary, and too frequently the obser- 
vations and interference of injudicious friends, 
presented obstacles to improvement of no small 
magnitude. 

From what I have said of the character of Mrs. 
Spencer, my young friends will not be surprised to 
hear, that her fondness for her children rendered 
her blind to their faults ; or if she was in any de- 
gree sensible of their imperfections she would have 
considered it a breach of parental affection to dis- , 
close them to another. 

With these sentiments, when she waited on Mrs. 
Franklin, respecting the placing her little girls 
under her care, she represented them thus, “ They 
are very good children, Mrs. Franklin, I have no 
fault wha^ver to find with them, but my health is 
delicate, and their high spirits are too much for 
me. Children will be troublesome; you know, 
sometimes, and mine are like others in thl^esp^ct, 
but then they are so amiable affd affectionate th’at 
it is ini^l^sible to be angry with them. I should 
tell you j^iat Charlotte, poor dear, is highly exci- 
table, and so sensitive that she cannot bear to be 
found fault with ; she is all feeling. I often deplore 
it on her own account, it entails so much suffering 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


149 


in this world of sorrow — and yet one would not 
repress it, there is something so beautiful in sensi- 
bility.” 

“ In real sensibility, rightly directed and chas- 
tened by reason and religion,” said Mrs. Franklin. 

“Oh, yes, real of course; now that is an excel- 
lence in dear Charlotte’s character of which I am 
not afraid to speak — her reality, sincerity, and up- 
rightness. Whatever may be her failings I can 
say with truth, that want of candour is not among 
them, she is openness itself, too much so, I some- 
times fear, for her own happiness. As I do not 
wish to conceal any thing from you, Mrs. Frank- 
lin, perhaps, I ought to mention that her temper is 
inclined to be warm, but then this is a failing so 
inseparable from quickness of parts and strong 
affections, that it seems scarcely fair to reckon it 
as one, and I expect every thing from time and 
your judicious management. Now with respect to 
my little gentle Mary, I really have not any con- 
fessions to make, she is allowed by every one to 
be a sweet child; you will not find any ’difficulty 
in dealing with her; and yet though so gentle she 
is not weak, she has a will of her own, which I 
am glad to see, as otherwise her excessive sweet- 
ness of disposition would render her liable to be 

13 * 


150 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


‘ imposed upon. However,” concluded the partial 
mother, “ I com'mit them to your care with the 
fullest confidence that you will understand their 
characters, and make every allowance for the in- 
firmities inseparable from the condition of fallen 
humanity.” Thus ended this interview, and the 
following morning Charlotte and Mary were in- 
troduced to the school-room. 

Aware of the uncontrolled liberty to which her 
new pupils had been accustomed, and concluding 
that the wholesome restraint of a school could not 
fail to be irksome to them, Mrs. Franklin abstained 
on their first arrival from alarming them by any 
catalogue of the various things to be done or not 
done, which formed the regulations of her estab- 
lishment. She hoped that the quiet influence of 
example would in time have its due weight, and 
that habits of order and subjection would insensi- 
bly be formed, where every thing externally was 
calculated to produce them. 

On their part, Charlotte and Mary’s first impres- 
sions of^a school life were on the whole favourable. 
Charlotte’s vanity was flattered at the idea of hav- 
ing so wide a field for the display of her talents, of 
which she entertained an exalted opinion. She 
thought herself sure of excelling in knowledge 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


151 


every girl of her own age at least ; and feasted 
her imagination with anticipated triumphs, not 
doubting that she would obtain the admiration and 
applause both of her teachers and companions. 
Mary was equally satisfied, but for different rea- 
sons. She thought nothing could be more easy 
than to sit still, and do as she was told, and that 
among so large a number it would be no difficult 
matter to escape observation, and indulge her hab- 
its of indolence and carelessness. When they re- 
turned home on the evening of their first day spent 
at school, they were both full of the praises of their 
new situation. 

“ I am sure I shall like school very much, 
mamma,” said Charlotte, “ only it will be rather 
tiresome to have to talk French so many hours in 
the day.” 

“I don’t mind that so much,” said Mary, “for 
I shall try to talk as little as possible; besides I am 
one of the little ones, and they won’t expect me to 
understand French ; but, Charlotte, I don’t like the 
French teacher at all — she looks so cross, and 
speaks so quick.” 

“ Oh, yes ; one of the young ladies told me she 
was a cross thing,'' rejoined Charlotte ; “ the only 
way will be not to mind her. Mrs. Franklin is 


152 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


very kind, only she looks so grave; and, mamma, 

I think she must be very old, for she wears spec- 
tacles.” 

“ Perhaps she is short-sighted, my dear.” 

“Oh, no; she is very long-sighted, for she sees 
anything in a minute — her eyes seem to be every- 
where at once.” 

“ We had scarcely anything to do to-day, mam- 
ma,” said Mary; “ we just read a little, and Mrs. 
Franklin asked us what lessons we learned at 
home,” — 

“ And I told her,” interrupted Charlotte, “ that 
we had had a daily governess, and that I knew 
French, and history, and geography, and music, 
and — and then she smiled, so I knew she was 
pleased, and said I need not mention any more 
things, so I am sure she thought I knew a great 
deal. And to-morrow we are to be put into classes, 
and I am sure I shall be put at the head of the 
second class, for one of the young ladies said she 
knew I should.” 

In this manner these two silly and conceited 
little girls ran on, unchecked by their mamma, who 
was only too happy that her darlings would con- 
descend to approve the mode of instruction she had 
chosen for them. 

1 shall not describe minutely the events w’hich 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


153 


occurred each day during the first month which 
Charlotte and Mary spent at school, but content 
myself by saying, that at the end of that time their 
opinion oY a school life, and all connected with it, 
was materially altered for the worse. Instead of 
being placed, as she had fondly anticipated, at the 
top of the second class, Charlotte had found her 
level at the bottom ; while Majry was convinced by 
painful experience, that idleness could not be in- 
dulged without detection, and that nothing was to 
be gained by obstinacy but sorrow and disgrace. 
These humiliating discoveries, instead of producing 
repentance and amendment, roused a storm of ill- 
concealed passions in the hearts of the two sisters; 
they considered themselves as the injured party, 
and felt as if some great injustice were done them, 
because they were not allowed, without reproof, to 
be as naughty as they pleased. One day Charlotte 
having, through inattention, failed to repeat her 
lesson perfectly, the teacher gave her back the 
book, mildly telling her to return to her seat, and 
when she knew the lesson thoroughly to come to 
her again. 

Charlotte snatched away the book in a very 
unbecoming manner, and on resuming her seat, 
instead of learning the lesson, 'continued muttering 


154 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


her complaints to the companion who sat next to 
her. As, notwithstanding admonition, she per- 
sisted in this improper conduct, she was directed 
to take a seat by herself, and apart from the other 
pupils. Upon this she burst into a passionate fit 
of crying, exclaiming, “ that she couldn’t learn it — 
it was too difficult — that it was very hard to be 
treated thus,” — and *much more to the -same pur- 
pose; while Mary, roused by her sister’s distress, 
whispered loud enough to be heard by all around, 
that she “ would tell her mamma how cross they 
all were to Charlotte.” 

Without saying another word, Mrs. Franklin 
calmly rose from her seat, and taking the two little 
girls by the hand, led them into another room, 
where she addressed them as follows: — 

“I am much grieved, my dear children, at the 
manner in which you have just conducted your- 
selves. I had h'oped that your own good sense, 
and the right example generally shown you by 
your schoolfellows, would by this time have pro- 
duced the desire at least to follow that which is 
good, and to be numbered among those who be- 
have as reasonable beings. You have been hither- 
to treated with the utmost tenderness, and many 
allowances have been made for you, out of com- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


155 


passion to your extreme ignorance of those things 
which are the most necessary for children of your 
age to understand — I mean docility and obedience. 
Of the meaning of these words, or at least of the 
things which they signify, you seem to be totally 
ignorant, but it is my duty to instruct you in them, 
for until you have learned to be teachable and obe- 
dient, you are incapable of learning anything else 
that is good and useful. The laws both of God and 
man require obedience ; the command of God to 
children is, ‘ Obey your parents,’ and your parents, 
in committing you to my charge, depute to me, for 
the time, their authority over you ; so that in obey- 
ing your teachers, you tire, in fact, obeying your 
parents, and so far fulfilling the command of God. 
I could say much more, but will not, because I 
trust that what I have already said will have its 
due effect; only of this I would forewarn you, that 
should you again be guilty of any act of wilful 
disobedience or perverseness, I shall, though most 
unwillingly, be compelled to deal with you in a far 
different manner. If I cannot persuade you to 
what is right, I must punish you for that which is 
evil.” — Mrs. Franklin then opened the Bible, and 
directed the attention of the two little girls to that 
solemn portion, 1 Sam. xv. 22, 23, and entreating 


156 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


them to lay it to heart, affectionately dismissed 
them. 

This conversation had, for the remainder of the 
day, a salutary influence upon Charlotte and Mary. J 
They were humbled and subdued, and appeared 
really to perform their several duties with cheer- 
fulness and alacrity. 

That my readers may understand how it came 
to pass that these good impressions were not more 
lasting, I must refer them to what had been going 
on at home since the commencement of the two 
sisters’ school career. I have already given a spe- 
cimen of the freedom of speech which was allowed 
by their mamma to these little girls, but I have not 
yet noticed an evil of still greater magnitude, aris- 
ing out of it, which was, that they were permitted 
in return to hear the injudicious comments made 
by their mother and her friends upon their child- 
ish, and too often perverted, accounts of what took 
place at school. Charlotte and Mary soon disco- 
vered, from the looks and half sentences of those 
around them, that they were regarded as a kind of 
victims to the injustice and caprice of their govern- 
ess, and thus encouraged, their daily chapter of 
grievances became more and more lengthened, and 
still wider from the truth. Poor Mrs. Spencer, in 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


157 


her surprise at finding, even from the children’s 
distorted statement, that their conduct was not ap- 
proved by their teachers, immediately came to the 
conclusion that it could not be the fault of the chil- 
dren; “for surely,” argued she, “they would love 
those who treated them with kindness, and be 
pleased with their studies if they were made agree- 
able to them — there must therefore be something 
radically wrong in the system — they were not pro- 
perly managed — their tempers were misunder- 
stood.” She saw that her children were unhappy, 
and unfeignedly desired their happiness, yet the 
method of procuring it, though so plain and easy, 
never once occurred to her. She never thought 
of recommending to them submission, as the sim- 
ple but effectual cure for all their troubles — to bow 
their neck to the yoke as the sure way of relieving 
its pressure. 

When Charlotte and Mary returned home after 
the conversation with Mrs. Franklin which I have 
before recorded, they were in a state of mind to 
receive right impressions had their fond mother 
known how to have embraced the favourable op- 
portunity. Their downcast looks and softened 
tone bespoke a corresponding change of feeling, 
which, with proper management, might have 
14 


158 


ELLEN SEYMOVR ; OR. 


proved the commencement of a new era in their 
moral existence. But the very first sentence 
which proceeded from their mother’s lips was, 
though unintentionally, just the fitting one to dispel 
the power of the better feelings, and to re-establish 
the baneful passions in all their former tyranny. 

“ What is the matter, my sweet darlings,” said 
she, folding them in her arms ; “ what has grieved 
my precious children ? has any one been unkind 
to you — has Mrs. Franklin scolded you I” 

Charlotte and Mary could only reply by their 
sobs. 

“ I am sure something is the matter — I am sure 
some one has ill-treated you; but never mind, 
dears, your mother will take your part — she won’t 
allow you to be oppressed by any one. This is 
the way,” continued she, turning to a friend who 
just then entered the room, “ this is the way that 
these children are sent home to me from school ; 
really it is most distressing. Now you can see 
and judge for yourself; — and I ask whether this 
can be a right state of things — whether this can be 
a right system of education?” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the friend ; “ I entirely 
agree with you.” 

“ But I have not yet heard what is the cause of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


159 


all this,” resumed Mrs. Spencer; “tell me, dar- 
lings.” 

“ It is all because I couldn’t say my grammar,” 
sobbed Charlotte. 

“Yes, mamma,” echoed Mary, “and she was 
made to sit upon a form all by herself.” 

“ What severity for such a trifle,” sighed Mrs. 
Spencer; “and what was y^ar crime, my sweet 
Mary ?” 

“ I only said, mamma, I should tell you of it.” 

“ That was right, my own darling, always tell 
your mother everything ; and were you punished • 
for that?” 

“Not punished, mamma, only scolded; Mrs. 
Franklin took us into another room, and gave us 
such a scolding.” 

“Yes,” added Charlotte, her voice still choked 
with sobs, “she told us we had broken the laws of 
God and man.” 

“ And that she would punish us severely next 
time,” interrupted Mary. • 

“ And then,” continued Charlotte, “ she read us 
a verse out of the Bible about rebellion and witch- 
craft. — I can’t tell you all she said, mamma, but she 
made us out worse than anybody else.” 

Thus, in order to screen themselves, and avenge 


IGO 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


ihe quarrel of their wounded pride, were these two 
children guilty of actual falsehood, for they well 
knew they had not given a true account of the 
matter. On hearing this my young readers may 
be inclined to think that I mistook the character of 
Charlotte, when I described her as being of an 
‘ open temper but I was right in saying so, for 
she was not naturally a deceitful child, though her 
habits of truth and sincerity were not, as we have 
seen, sufficiently confirmed to resist temptation. 
It is an easy thing to confess faults for which we 
are not blamed, and the very confession of which 
procures us praise. This had been the case with 
Charlotte, the bent of her disposition inclined her 
• to tell what was passing within, and she had been 
taught to consider it meritorious thus to expose, her 
feelings whether good or bad. But at school cir- 
cumstances were different; she was expected to 
impose restraint upon herself, while at the same 
time she was vexed to perceive that her faults 
were discovered, and treated as faults by her 
teachers. Her pride took fire, and scorning to 
submit, and confess herself in the wrong, the next 
step was to make it appear to others that she was 
in the right. Hence she began by relating facts 
not exactly as they were, till she ended by relating 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


161 


them as they were not ; so few and rapid are the 
strides between slight departures from the truth, 
and downright deceit and lying. This progression 
of evil would, it is true, have been prevented had 
Mrs. Spencer possessed more discernment and de- 
cision of character, but the easiness with -which 
their mother was deceived did not lessen the guilt 
of her children in deceiving her. Oh that my dear 
young friends may recoil from the very shadow of 
untruth, with the same feelings of horror with 
which they would start back from an adder in 
their path ! 

Poor Mrs. Spencer’s feelings were so thoroughly 
excited on the present occasion, that she found it 
impossible any longer to conceal them from the 
person whom she considered as the author of all 
these troubles; and she, therefore, the next day 
called upon Mrs. Franklin, determined to open her 
mind fully on the subject of her children’s griev- 
ances. 

“ It is very painful to me, Mrs. Franklin,” she 
began, “to make any complaints, but really I do 
so deeply feel the importance of children’s dispo- 
sitions being understood, that I trust you will for- 
give my saying a few words on this subject in re- 
ference to my own little girls.” 

14 * 


1G2 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ Certainly,” replied Mrs. Franklin, “ I shall be 
most happy to receive any hints on a subject of 
such moment.” 

Mrs. Spencer sighed, and continued, “ It may 
seem presumptuous in me to offer an opinion, but 
the state of mind in which my children have lately 
returned from school, appears to me to indicate 
that they are in some way or other misunderstood, 
and I assure you it is most trying to my feelings to 
witness their distress.” 

Mrs. Franklin expressed her surprise at this 
statement, and begged to know to what particular 
time Mrs. Spencer alluded. 

“ It is difficult to speak with accuracy,” replied 
Mrs. Spencer, “ but yesterday, for instance, they 
returned home quite overwhelmed.” 

“ I am really surprised to hear this,” said Mrs. 
Franklin, “for I do not know when I have felt so 
satisfied with their conduct as I did yesterday; 
and when they left my house to return home, they 
appeared in a peculiarly nice state of mind, so that 
I am at a loss to account for the sudden change 
which must have taken place.” 

It was now Mrs. Spencer’s turn to look sur- 
prised, but recovering herself she said inquiringly, 
“ But there had been some misunderstanding in the 
morning ?” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


1G3 


“ Yes,” said Mrs. Franklin, and she then gave a 
short but correct account of what had passed, con- 
cluding by saying, that on conversing seriously 
with them on the subject of their misconduct, she 
had been quite pleased to see the good impression 
produced, and which was evidenced by their im- 
proved behaviour during the rest of the day. 

The candour of this statement could not but com- 
mend itself to any impartial mind, and even Mrs. 
Spencer, with all her prejudices, felt a reply to be 
extremely difficult. How happy would it have 
been had she yielded to the convictions of her 
better judgment, and allowed her eyes to be opened 
to the truth. But the fear of betraying her chil- 
dren’s misrepresentations overcame every other 
feeling, and made her shrink from an explanation 
which would really have advanced their best in- 
terests, and have secured to herself the lasting 
esteem and confidence of their true friend Mrs. 
Franklin. 

She therefore, with some embarrassment of man- 
ner, endeavoured to explain what seemed so unac- 
countable, by saying, “You may recollect, Mrs. 
Franklin, that I gave you some little hints respect- 
ing my children’s peculiar dispositions; — Char- 
lotte’s extreme sensitiveness, and Mary’s meekness 


161 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


and gentleness. They feel everything too acutely 
— a mere nothing overwhelms them ; — perhaps it 
was so in this instance.” 

“ Perhaps it was,” replied Mrs. Franklin ; “ a 
too excitable temperament has its disadvantages ; 
and our efforts should therefore be directed to 
fortify the mind against its attacks.” 

“ Ah, it is such a delicate thing to meddle With 
the feelings,” said Mrs. Spencer ; “ it seems to me 
almost impossible to repress those emotions when 
they are so interwoven with the very nature.” 

“ I would not wish to repress, but to regulate 
and control them,” answered Mrs. Franklin ; “ and 
if we only consider the unspeakable value of a 
well-regulated mind, we shall not think any pains 
too great for its attainment.” 

“ Do you not think that age may do much for 
them in this respect?” asked Mrs. Spencer. 

“It might, certainly, if increase of years brought 
with them increase of wisdom ; but how often, on 
the contrary, do we see wrong habits strengthen 
with age, and become really invincible. Besides, 
my dear madam, we are always safe in following 
the guidance of Scripture, and that directs us to 
‘ train up a child in the way he should go.’ ” 

“ I have such a dread of anything like force or 
constraint,” said Mrs. Spencer. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


1G5 


“We need not be afraid of any force which 
moves the better feelings to action ; while we ought 
to dread the force of evil passions as the worst of 
tyrannies,” replied Mrs. Franklin. “Instead of 
attempting violently to root out that which is 
wrong, let us rather seek to restrain its growth, 
and counteract its influence by implanting and 
cherishing that which is right, according to the 
divine precept ‘ to overcome evil with good.’ ” 

“ Yes, I am sure what you say is very true,” 
said Mrs. Spencer, in the tone of a person only 
half convinced, as she rose to depart ; “ but I am 
so sensible of my own deficiencies — my own want 
of wisdom — I am such a poor weak creature.” 

“ And which of us is not such ?” rejoined Mrs. 
Franklin ; “ but there is One who has promised to 
supply the need of his people, and to give wisdom 
liberally, and without upbraiding. Yes, my dear 
Mrs. Spencer, let us carry all our wants to Him, 
and be assured He will give power to the faint, 
and increase strength to them who have no might. 
Besides, in your own case, though you may not be 
able to say much, who can estimate the power of 
maternal example?” 

These last words reached the heart of Mrs. 
Spencer ; and she felt an uneasy kind of convic- 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


166 

tion that her influence as a mother had not been 
exerted for the profit of her children. She walked 
slowly home, reflecting upon what had passed, dis- 
satisfied with herself, and displeased, she knew not 
why, with Mrs. Franklin, — desiring a better state 
of things, yet without energy to carry her wishes 
into eflfect. She had allowed the reins of paren- 
tal authority to slip out of her hands, and to re- 
sume them was a difficulty to which she was 
unequal. She therefore prudently abstained from 
making the attempt ; and contenting herself with a 
little more circumspection on her own part, per- 
mitted her children to go on in their usual way. 

Among the boarders at Mrs. Franklin’s was 
Eliza Mansfield, an interesting girl, of about thir- 
teen years of age. Eliza was deservedly beloved 
both by her teachers and companions, not for the 
brilliancy of her talents, nor the liveliness of her 
spirits, but for her good sense, docility, and obedi- 
ence, her uniform sweetness of temper, and gentle, 
obliging manners. This amiable girl felt much 
compassion for Charlotte and Mary, and had on 
many occasions assisted them in their difficulties, 
and endeavoured to persuade them to adopt a bet- 
ter line of conduct. It is true they had not much 
profited by her advice, but the kind interest 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. ]0'7 

she showed for them won their esteem and 
affection. 

“ Thanks be, another day’s work is over,” ex- 
claimed Charlotte, as she bounded into the play- 
ground at the conclusion of school hours, one fine 
summer’s afternoon. “ How I do hate school, and 
all belonging to it.” ♦ 

“ And how / love school, and all belonging to 
it,” said Eliza Mansfield with a smile. 

“ How strange that is,” rejoined Charlotte ; “ I 
never can understand you, Eliza; but then you are 
a favourite — you never come in for any of the 
scoldings.” 

“ I never hear any scoldings, as you call them. 
Mrs. Franklin neither scolds, nor has favourites,” 
^said Eliza, gravely. 

very well for you to say sof as you are 
one V J^t as to me I am no favourite, and 

am scold^ from morning to night.” 

“ Oh, ‘Charlotte, how grieved I am to hear you 
talk in this manner.” 

“ Well, the truth is, I am miserable here,” inter- 
rupted Charlotte. “ I wish mamma would take us 
away.” 

“But wherever you went you would have to 
learn lessons, and be obedient.” 


168 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ Oh, it is not the lessons, I don’t mind them so 
much ; for we had a daily governess, and used to 
learn, lessons before we came here, but then it was 
only for a few hours in the day ; and she was very 
good-natured, and let us do as we liked.” 

“ And do you think it was really good-natured 
to let you do as you liked asked Eliza. 

“What an old woman you are, Eliza; if my 
eyes were shut, I declare to hear you talk I should 
think it was Mrs. Franklin herself.” 

“ My dear Charlotte, how I do wish you would 
be serious.” 

“ Well, seriously then, Eliza, I do not like school 
at all — I am not happy here.” 

“ And why not ?” asked Eliza. 

“ Because — I don’t know exactly ; but one re^^ 
son is, because I. can never please 

“ Have you ever tried ta. pje^ 

Eliza. 

Charlotte was silent for an instant, and th^' 
said, “ It is impossible, she is so particular.” 

“ But / don’t find it impossible,” rejoined Eliza. 
“ On the contrary, I think she is very easily 
pleased.” 

“ Yes, with you, because, as I said before, you 
are a favourite ; and, besides, you never do any- 
thing to offend her.” 



THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


169 


Eliza smiled, and said, And why then do not 
you try the same method ? It would be sure to 
succeed.” 

“ I don’t know that — but, Eliza, I often wonder 
how you can bear to be a boarder — never to go 
home but twice a year. I should be wretched if I 
didn’t see mamma every day, and tell her all that 
went on.” 

“ So I used to think when I first came to school 
as a day-scholar,” said Eliza. 

“As a day-scholar!” exclaimed Charlotte, “I 
did not know you had ever been a day-scholar.’i- 

“ Yes,' during the’ time that papa and mamma 
resided in this neighbourhood, but when they left, 
about two years since, I became a boarder.” 

“ Oh, were you not sorry !” said Charlotte. 

“ I was sorry to be parted from papa and 
mamma, but delighted to remain with dear Mrs. 
Franklin,” replied Eliza. 

“ And were you happy when you first came to 
school — I mean as a day-scholar?” asked Char- 
lotte. 

“ No, I often used to feel something as you do 
now.” 

“ And what made you feel differently?” 

“ My dear mamma,” answered Eliza, “ to whom 
15 


170 


ELLEN SEYMOUR, OR, 


I used to tell every thing, never encouraged any 
thing like discontent and murmuring she would 
listen to my complaints, and then gently point out 
what she saw was wrong in myself, and show me 
how to avoid getting into trouble for the future.” 

“But I should think it very unkind if mamma 
didn’t take my part,” said Charlotte. 

“ My mamma always used to say, that it was 
the greatest unkindness to encourage young people 
in their wrong feelings, and I am sure she was 
right, for as soon as I begun to follow her advice 
I became happy,” answered Eliza. 

“ And what w’as her advice V* asked Charlotte. 

“ Oh, among other things she used to tell me 
that nothing which was worth knowing could be 
learned without tak ng pains, that many things 
which seemed difficult at first became easy by 
practice, that if I did my best my teachers w'ould 
be satisfied with me, that the way to escape morti- 
fications was to be gentle and yielding, that the 
first duty of a child was obedience, and much more 
which I cannot recollect just now.” 

“ I think you have recollected a great deal ; 
what a good mamma she must be !” said Char- 
lotte. 

“Yes, she is, the kindest, the best — she writes 


THE BUD and the PUOVVER. 


171 

me such beauiiful letters, and I know she never 
ceases to pray for the blessing of God to rest upon 
me.” - ,, 

“ How I wish I knew her — I am sure I should 
love her dearly,” cried Charlotte. 

“Then why do not you love Mrs. Franklin?” 
said Eliza. “ Mrs. Franklin is mamma’s intimate 
friend, and in many of her ways reminds me of 
her.” 

“ Mrs. Franklin your mamma’s intimate friend !” 
exclaimed Charlotte; “I did not know that any 
one ever was friends with a school mistress.” 

At this speech, so thoroughly betraying the ig- 
norant prejudices of Charlotte’s mind, and the look 
of astonishment which accompanied it, Eliza could 
not refrain from laughing ; and at this moment 
Mrs. Spencer’s servant arriving to take Charlotte 
and Mary home, the conversation ceased. 

Charlotte’s head during the walk was running 
on the subject of this conversation, and as soon as 
she reached home she began to detail to her mo- 
ther the new ideas to which it had given rise. 

“ Mamma, I think Mrs. Mansfield must be a de- 
lightful person,” she abruptly began ; “ Eliza has 
been telling me so much about her, and she is so 
kind and good, and gives her such excellent ad- 


172 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ Does she, my dear ? I am very glad to hear 
it,” said Mrs. Spencer carelessly. 

“Yes, mamma, and Eliza has given me good 
advice too, and I hope I shall follow it; she is a 
dear girl, I love her so mucli.” 

“ So do I too,” echoed Mary ; “ she is always so 
good natured.” 

“ And, mamma,” continued Charlotte, “ do you 
know she has told me the way to be happy at 
school, and I mean to try it.” 

“ Indeed,” said her mother gravely, “ I am sur- 
prised to hear that, for you never will attend to ‘ 
any thing I tell you, and I can’t say I much ap- 
prove of these violent school-girl friendships. I 
should think I was a much more proper person to 
advise you than Eliza Mansfield.” 

Charlotte looked disappointed and perplexed, 
but not being easily repulsed, she continued. 

“ But, mamma, she told me one strange thing, 
whom do you think is Mrs. Mansfield’s intimate 
friend ?” 

“ I am sure, my love, I don’t know,” said Mrs. 
Spencer in her usual tone — “ is it any one in this 
place ?” 

“Yes, some one in this place — some one that 
you know.” 


' THE BUD AND THE FLOWEU. 


173 


“ Mrs. Smith, perhaps ?” 

“ No ; there would be nothing so very strange in 
that.” 

“ Miss Crawford, then ?” 

“ No, no — some one stranger a great deal ; well, 
I’ll tell you — Mrs. Franklin, mamma, only think.” 

“ And what is there so very strange in that ?” 
asked Mrs. Spencer with an air of indifference. 

“Why, a school mistress, you know, mamma; 
she is not your intimate friend, is she ?” 

To this question Mrs. Spencer made no direct 
reply, only saying, “ Mrs. Franklin is a very good 
woman, I believe.” 

“ You believe ! Oh, mamma, Eliza Mansfield is 
sure she is, and she says Mrs. Franklin is so kind, 
and”— 

“ Well, my dear, I don’t wish to hear any more 
about Eliza Mansfield,” interrupted Mrs. Spencer; 

“ I dare say she is a very good girl, but she is too 
young to give her opinion in this decided manner,” 
and so saying, the conversation ended. 

Thus did this injudicious mother let slip another 
golden opportunity of fixing the right impressions 
made by others upon the minds of her children. 

The next da}*, as soon as school was over, Char- 
lotte and Mary taking each an arm of Eliza, 
15 * 


174 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


hastened into the garden to their favourite shady 
walk. “ I have so much to tell you, Eliza,” said 
Charlotte in the mysterious tone of one who has 
some important information to communicate. 

“ She has a secret to tell you,” said Mary in a 
half whisper. 

“ I am not very fond of secrets,” said Eliza with 
a smile, “ for neither mamma nor Mrs. Franklin 
approves of them generally for )'Oung people ; how- 
ever, let me hear what this wonderful secret of 
yours is.” 

“ Why, I told mamma every thing you said to 
me yesterday,” said Charlotte. 

“And is this all the secret?” asked Eliza laugh- 
ing, “ I should be very sorry to say any thing to 
you, which you could not tell your mamma.” 

“ Yes, but do you know, mamma was not at all 
pleased,” rejoined Charlotte. 

“ Not pleased ! I am sure I did not say any thing 
to displease her.” 

“ No, but she did not like us to praise you ; the 
fact is,” said Charlotte lowering her tone, “ mam- 
ma is so dreadfully jealous, that she cannot bear 
us to love any one beside herself.” 

“No, that she can’t,” added Mary; “I never 
dare even to kiss nurse when mamma is by, for if 
I do she looks so cross.^ 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


175 


Eliza looked shocked, and said seriously, “ Oh, 
dear, it is very wrong of you to speak in this man- 
ner of your mamma — if this is your secret, I wish 
you had not repeated it to me.” 

Charlotte and Mary looked confused, and re- 
mained silent, at last Charlotte said, “ But is it not 
wrong of mamma to be jealous of our love for 
others ?” 

“ You ought not to think she is jealous,” replied 
Eliza ; “ and if she were so, it is only because she 
loves you so tenderly, and with all her heart, that 
she wishes to have all your love in return. My 
mamma has always told me that children can 
have no idea of the love which a mother feels for 
her child. Besides, we never ought to expose our 
parents’ faults, even -if we see them — it is a great 
sin.” ' 

“ Is it ?” said Charlotte and Mary in an alarmed 
tone, “ does it say so in the Bible ?” 

“ Yes, in more places than one, which I will find 
for you another time, but I can repeat you one 
text, which mamma once made me learn.” Eliza 
then repeated that awful passage, “ The eye that 
mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his 
mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, 
and the young eagles shall eat if.” (Pr. xxx. 17.) ' 


176 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


“How dreadful!” exclaimed Charlotte and Mary, 
“ but,” said the former, “ we did not mean to mock 
at our dear mamma, for I am sure we love her 
dearly.” 

“ I am sure you do,” said Eliza; “ but when you 
told me she was jealous, did you mean to make me 
love her?” 

The two little girls could not answer this ques- 
tion, they hung dowm their heads, and the tears 
began to steal down their cheeks. 

Eliza kissed them affectionately, and no more 
was then said, but from this time a marked im- 
provement took place in the behaviour of the two 
sisters. They became more humble and obedient, 
more willing to please and be pleased with all 
around them. Mrs. Franklin observed this happy 
change in her pupils with the utmost satisfaction, 
and gave them every encouragement to persevere; 
while their kind friend, Eliza Mansfield, rejoiced 
over them with heartfelt gladness, and W'as ever 
ready to lend them a helping hand, and to assist 
them with her gentle counsels. Charlotte and 
Mary experienced a species of happiness they had 
never known before, that of loving and being be- 
loved ; for their mother’s fondness had been too 
lavishly bestowed, and had been regarded too 


THE BUD AND THE FJ.OWER. 


177 


much as a thing of course, to produce any lasting 
emotion but that of selfishness in the hearts of her 
children. But now their feelings began to expand, 
and to derive pleasure from showing as well as 
receiving kindness. 

Mrs. Spencer also could not but be sensible of 
the alteration for the better in her little daughters ; 
but while she was pleased to see them happy and 
improving, she was not so satisfied as to the man- 
ner in which their reformation had been effected. 
She dreaded lest the influence of others over them 
even for good, might be the means of alienating 
their affections from herself ; and this ill-grounded 
fear, while it marred her own enjoyment, was a 
hindrance to that of her children, who, as wo have 
before seen, were too acute not, in some measure, 
to penetrate their mother’s feelings. Perceiving 
that she did not always look pleased when they 
talked of Mrs. Franklin or Eliza Mansfield in 
warm terms of praise, they soon learned not to 
mention their names too often, nor to praise them 
too highly. Thus their freedom of intercourse 
with their mother which had been formerly too 
unrestrained, was now unduly restricted, and poor 
Mrs. Spencer, by her own mismanagement, was 
again unintentionally the means of endangering. 


178 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


though in a different manner, the sincerity of her 
children — her want of judgment had before tempt- 
ed them to exceed, now it inclined them to repress 
the truth. 

Some months had passed away in this manner, 
when one morning Charlotte appearing to be indis- 
posed, her mamma would not allow her to go to 
school as usual. Her disorder rapidly increasing, 
'the medical attendant was sent for, who thought 
her very ill, and ordered her to go to bed. Weak- 
ness and suffering was a strange thing to Charlotte; 
she had been hitherto a remarkably strong, healthy 
child, full of life and spirits : now she was wasting 
away with pain and fever, her strength was gone, 
and her life was only a succession of wearisome 
days and sleepless nights. Still she endeavoured 
to bear this sad change with patience, and for her 
mother’s sake to conceal the extent of her suffer- 
ings. On her part, poor Mrs. Spencer sought care- 
fully to stiffe her own feelings, lest she should 
alarm the fears of Charlotte. She never quitted 
the sick room day nor night, but in silent agony 
watched every movement, and anticipated every 
wish of her suffering child. The intensity of her 
feelings was heightened by her anxiety for the spi- 
ritual welfare of this beloved one; she too well 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


179 


knew the value of a soul to think of allowing her 
child to sink into the grave without speaking to 
her on this all-important subject, but she hesitated 
as to the fitting moment of its introduction. When 
Charlotte was a little worse than usual, her mother 
feared that the subject of religion would be too 
agitating, and might aggravate her symptoms; 
when a little better, that it might endanger a re- 
lapse ; thus by her habitual want of decision did 
she torture her own mind, and risk not only the 
present, but eternal happiness of her child. All 
" this time the mind of that child was harassed by 
the most painful reflections ; she knew that she was 
very ill, and she feared she might be even worse 
than she supposed. The possibility that her illness 
might end in death often flashed across her mind, 
and the thought was too terrible to bear. She felt 
she was not prepared to appear in the presence of 
God ; and yet, perhaps, she was hastening thither. 
With the utmost anxiety she would watch the 
grave countenance of the physician as he felt her 
pulse, longing yet dreading to know his opinion. 
One day when he had taken his leave, looking, as 
Charlotte thought, graver than usual, she could no 
longer repress her anxiety, but said, with a sud- 
denness which showed the effort it was, “ Mamma, 


180 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


I am going to ask you a question — What does Dr. 
Anson think of me ?” 

“ He thinks, my love, that you are very ill, but 
that you may recover,” answered her mother, 
scarcely able to command her voice. 

“ May recover,” repeated Charlotte, “ then I 
may die !” She paused, and a flood of tears came 
to her relief. 

“ My love, my dear love, don’t agitate yourself 
in this way,” cried her distressed mother, ming- 
ling her tears with those of her child. 

“Oh, mamma, why did not you speak to me 
before 1 — you don’t know the thoughts I have had 
since I have lain on this bed.” 

“ I have often wished to speak to you, my love, 
but feared it might be too much for you.” 

“ But to die,” said Charlotte, as if speaking to 
herself, “ how can I die ?” 

“ But why should you think of dying, my love, 
' at least in this way? — think of Jesus, and of all 
his love to poor sinners, and then you will be pre- 
pared either to live or die.” 

“ I cannot think about Him as I ought. Oh, 
mamma, I have been such a wicked child ; I have 
remembered so many things since I have been ill, 
that I never thought of before.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


181 

“ Compose yourself, my dearest love, and try to 
get a little sleep, and we will talk of this another 
time.” 

“ But suppose I should never M’ake again — oh, 
what will, what will become of me !” sobbed the 
poor child. The effort was too much for her weak 
frame, and she soon after fell into a profound sleep. 
On awaking, the conversation was not resumed, as 
she appeared much exhausted. The next day, after 
lying for some time motionless, and apparently 
asleep, Charlotte in a faint voice called her mother. 
Mrs. Spencer bent over her, when throwing her 
arms round her mother’s neck, she said, “Mamma, 
my own precious mamma, you must not be hurt if 
I ask you one thing — it is this — let me see Mrs. 
Franklin.” 

“ And why should I be hurt, my dear? It is the 
very thing I have been thinking of myself ; — I have 
sadly failed in my duty to you, my dear child,” 
added Mrs. Spencer with much emotion. 

“No, mamma, do not talk so; it is I who have 
been an undutiful child to you ; — Oh, you do not 
know how wicked I have been ;” then making a 
great effort, she added, “ I used to tell you so many 
things about Mrs. Franklin that were untrue, when 
I first went to school; and that is not all : I have 


10 


182 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


spoken disrespectfully of you, besides being unruly 
and disobedient; and now God is angry w'ith me 
for all these things, and if I die w'hat will become 
of me!” 

Poor Mrs. Spencer said every thing she could 
think of to soothe and comfort her sorrowing child; 
but Charlotte refused to be comforted, and waited 
with the utmost anxiety for the arrival of Mrs. 
Franklin, for whom a messenger had been dis- 
patched. 

“ My poor dear child,” said Mrs. Franklin, as 
she tenderly took Charlotte’s fevered hand, “ I did 
not know you were so ill as this; but He M'ho 
raised up Lazarus from the dead can raise you up 
again to health and vigour, if it be his blessed will.” 

The poor little invalid was for some time too 
much overcome by her feelings to reply, but sooth- 
ed and encouraged by Mrs. Franklin’s kind and 
sympathizing manner, she at length said, “ Oh, 
ma’am, how kind it is of you to come and see me. 
I wanted so much to tell you all that is on my 
mind.” She then, in a simple and candid manner, 
confessed the naughtiness of her former ways, and 
earnestly entreated Mrs. Franklin’s forgiveness; 
adding, “ But I know before I ask it, that you and 
dear mamma will forgive me ; but what makes me 


TilE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


183 

so wretched is, because I cannot be sure that God 
will.” 

“ Do you then really think, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Franklin, “that poor sinful creatures like your 
mamma and myself are more ready to forgive than 
the blessed God, whose name and nature is love, 
and whose word of promise is, ‘ Before they call I 
will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will 
hear?’ ” 

“No, ma’am, I cannot think that; but then I 
have been so often told that God is such a holy 
Being, that he hates sin, and therefore I feel as if 
he must hate me, because I am such a sinner.” 

“ It is true, my dear, that God hates sin with a 
perfect hatred ; but, then, is there no way in which 
God can show his holy hatred of sin, and at the 
same time show mercy to those who are sorry for 
having offended him, and who come to him for 
pardon ?” 

Charlotte was silent for an instant, and then re- 
plied, “ Through Jesus Christ, I suppose. He can.” 

“Yes, my dear child, for the sake of his dear 
Son, Jesus Christ, God forgives the repenting sin- 
ner, for it is written, ‘ God so loved the world that 
he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever 
believeth in him should not perish, but have ever- 
lasting life.’ ” 


184 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Charlotte looked as if she wished to ask a ques- 
tion. 

“You have something to say, my dear ; what 
is it ?” asked Mrs. Franklin kindly. 

“ I do not quite understand what is meant by 
believing” said Charlotte. 

“ It is the same thing as trusting^ or having con- 
fidence in a person,” replied Mrs. Franklin. “ If I 
were to make you a promise you would believe I 
should fulfil it, because you know enough of my 
character to believe I should not deceive you. 
Now God fs one ‘ who cannot lie,’ therefore we can 
safely rest in the assurance that whatever He has 
promised he will certainly perform.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; how I wish I could be- 
lieve,” said Charlotte, with a sigh. 

“ Pray to God to enable you to do so, my dear 
child, and entreat of Him to take away your unbe- 
lief, and to give you faith (which is another word 
for believing) in the precious blood of Jesus. Be 
assured he will hear and answer your prayer, for 
he bath said, ‘ Call upon me in the day of trouble, 
and I will answer thee.’ ” Mrs. Franklin then read 
that precious portion of Scripture, Ps. ciii. 8 — 14, 
and having offered up a short but comprehensive 
prayer, took leave for that day of her interesting 
pupil. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


185 

After this conversation Charlotte became more 
composed ; she lay meditating on different promises 
of the word of God, particularly on those to which 
Mrs. Franklin had directed her attention ; and 
although she said but little, it was evident that her 
mind was calm and tranquil. The violence of her 
disorder also began now to abate, so as to allow of 
a hope that her days might be prolonged, at least,, 
for a season. And so it proved, — the acute symp- 
toms subsided, but she fell into a rapid decline, 
which in a few weeks terminated her existence. I 
shall not attempt to detail all the conversations 
which passed during the remainder of this brief 
period, but merely refer to a few of them, as mark- 
ing the progress of this dear child in the divine 
life. 

“ One fine day, her couch having been placed 
near the window, she watched with much interest 
the proceedings of the gardener, who was cutting 
down a tree. “ I am thinking,” said she to Mrs. 
Franklin, who was sitting by her, “ how much sin 
is like that tree.” 

“In what respect, my love?” inquired Mrs. 
Franklin. 

“ Because the root is left behind, and it will 
sprout again, and I find it so with sin in my heart.” 

16 * 


180 


ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 


“Yes,” said Mrs. Franklin, “you have just 
described the difference between the sin of our 
nature, and actual sins — the one is the root, the 
other the leaves and branches.” 

“ And it will be so,” continued Charlotte, “ as 
long as,” — and here she stopped, for she was not 
yet reconciled to the thought of death. 

“ As long as we are in the body,” said Mrs. 
Franklin, “ but how consolatory to know that both 
kinds of sin are atoned for; that Jesus has paid the 
full penalty for all, ‘ for God hath made Him to be 
sin for us who knew no sin, that we might be made 
the righteousness of God in him.’ And again, 
‘ Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away 
the sin of the world and, ‘ as by one man’s dis- 
obedience many were made sinners, so by the 
obedience of one shall many be made righteous.’ ” 

“ Those are beautiful texts,” said Charlotte, and 
she made Mrs. Franklin repeat them again and 
again. 

As she grew in grace, and in acquaintance with 
the deceitfulness of her own heart, she became 
increasingly anxious for others, particularly for 
her sister, and her favourite friend Eliza Mans- 
field. 

To her sister she would often say, “ Oh, my dar- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


187 


ling Mary, how it grieves me to think what a bad 
example I have set you, and how I have encouraged 
you in all kinds of naughtiness;” and then she 
would entreat her to remember the words of her 
dying sister, and to seek Jesus in the days of her 
youth, saying that she had sought and found Him, 
and that in him was life and peace. 

To Eliza she said, “ How much I owe to you, 
my dear Eliza, — how kind you were to me, and 
what good advice you used to give me; but, dear 
Eliza, there is one thing I want to say to you ; be- 
cause you are so good, so much better behaved 
than other girls, I am afraid you may be tempted 
to trust in your own goodness instead of in the 
righteousness of Christ ; for, after I became better 
behaved at school, and every one began to praise 
me, I grew proud of myself, and was very self- 
righteous ; but when I was taken ill God showed 
me what a wicked heart I had, and what sins 1 had 
committed, and then I had no peace till I could 
see Jesus dying on the cross for poor sinners like 
myself.” 

For her dear mother she felt most deeply, en- 
deavouring, in every possible manner, to comfort 
her afflicted heart. 

The week preceding her death she was entirely 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


188 

confined to her bed in a state of great weakness 
and suffering, yet she often said it was the happiest 
week of her life. All fear of death was taken 
away, and she longed to depart, and be with Christ 
— her last words were, “ Come, Lord Jesus, come 
quickly.” 

I must send you some of the remarks made by 
the junior members of the attentive auditory, which 
had listened in breathless silence to ‘ Aunt Sophy V 
perusal of her interesting manuscript. No sooner 
had she concluded, and received a general vote of 
thanks from all present, than the criticisms c*om- 
menced. 

Rosa, (with tears in her eyes,) “ Poor Charlotte, 
I am so sorry she died ! 1 should like to know how 
she would have behaved if she had got well again ; 
and Mary, I hope she never forgot her sister’s 
dying words. But what a very silly person Mrs. 
Spencer w'as, and how badly she managed her 
children.” 

Emily. “But I did not know that grown-up 
people, like papa and mamma, ever did wrong.” 

Arthur. (The eldest boy, now at home for his 
Midsummer holiday|.) “ To be sure they do ; — 
don’t you remember that Eli spoiled his children, 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


189 


and that the Lord was so displeased with him, that 
they were both slain in one day. I like Charlotte 
very much, because she was converted before she 
died.” 

Rosa. “ Aunt Sophy, may I ask you one ques- 
tion ?” 

Aunt Sophy. “Ask as many as you please, 
my dear.” 

Rosa. “ If it was wrong for Charlotte and Mary 
to expose the faults of their mamma, is it not 
wrong for you to write a book about the faults of 
Mrs. Spencer?” 

Aunt Sophy. “ Your question, my dear, is a very 
proper one, and I shall endeavour to reply to it sa- 
tisfactorily. In the first place, then, Mrs. Spencer 
is not a real character, but only a supposed one, 
in order to show the folly and evil of certain ways 
of acting. In the next, it is a kindness to tell peo- 
ple their faults, if it is done with a right intention, » 
and in a proper manner, not to hold them up to 
ridicule, but with a sincere desire that they may 
see and correct them. Again, many persons who 
would be hurt and offended, if we were plainly to 
say to them, ‘ Now, I perceive you have such and 
such faults, and act wrongly on such and such 
occasions,’ would not be offended if they discover- 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


190 

cd some resemblance to their own characters in a 
book, which they had no reason to think had been 
written with any intentional allusion to themselves; 
and if they were sensible persons, they would be 
glad to have their errors pointed out in this silent 
manner, and thus to have an opportunity of amend- 
ing them without the observation of others.” 

Rosa. “ Thank you. Aunt Sophy, I am sure 
what you say is true, for even while you were 
reading I saw some things in Charlotte and Mary 
very like myself, and yet I should not have liked 
you to say to me, ‘You are just such a naughty, 
foolish child as they were.’ ” 

Arthur. “ But would it not be better, in a book 
for children, to write only about the faults of 
children ?” 

Aunt Sophy. “ It would be very difficult to do 
that, as in nine cases out of ten, the faults of child- 
ren proceed from defects in their education. 
Children may have naturally some difference in 
their dispositions, but they cannot, properly speak- 
ing, be said at an early age to have any character 
at all. What we call character is the result of 
thoughts, feelings, and principles impressed upon 
the mind by a long course of education, whether 
good or bad, till they become habits, and thus the 
character is formed for life.” 


THE BUD ANaTHE FLOWER. 


191 


Rosa. “ Thank you, aunt, I think 1 under- 
stand now ; — have I any character?” 

Arthur. “ And have I ?” 

Emily. “And have I?” 

Aunt Sophy. “According to your ages, you 
have each a degree of character, but in neither of 
you is it yet fully developed or matured — that is, 
either full-hlown, like the rose you have in your 
hand, Emily, or ripe like the strawberry which 
Arthur brought me just now.” 

Rosa, (laughing.) “No, we are only huds ; 
some scarcely open, and some just beginning to 
expand.” 

Arthur, (looking very wise.) “ But, Aunt Sophy, 
I have a question to ask. How is it that we have 
different characters, when we are all educated 
alike ; for I heard papa say to mamma the other 
day, that Rosa, Emily, and I were all different 
characters ?” 

Aunt Sophy. “I have already said, my dear, 
that there are differences of disposition observable 
in children from their earliest infancy; for in- 
stance, some are bold and daring, while others are 
meek and timid ; now, wise and judicious parents 
like yours will perceive these differences, and suit 
their mode of training to them.” 


192 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR. 


Rosa. “ Oh yes, Arthur, for don’t you recollect 
when the little Seymours were staying here last 
autumn, what different children they were ? Little 
Harry was not afraid of any body or any thing ; — 
he would climb up such high places, and go so 
near the edge of the pond, that his mamma used 
to be sadly frightened, and then he would only 
laugh, and do it again; while little Walter was 
such a shy, timid little fellow, that he would cry 
if any one spoke to him, and if he saw a dog or a 
cow he would scream with terror, and could 
hardly be pacified, and papa told Mrs. Seymour 
that Harry required to be checked, and Walter 
encouraged^ 

Aunt Sophy. “ Exactly so ; well then, these 
differences of disposition receiving different treat- 
ment, by degrees, different characters, or rather 
different shades of character, are formed. Just as 
it is with the human countenance, — we have all 
eyes, noses, and mouths, yet so different in their 
shape and expression, that we have no difficulty 
in distinguishing one person from another. There 
are other things besides those I have mentioned 
which help to form the character, such as the 
person with whom we associate, the books we 
read, and the tempers we indulge in ourselves.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


193 

Rosa. “ What a good thing it is, then, to have 
parents and friends who understand all this, and 
who explain it to us!” 

Aunt Sophy. “ It is indeed, and if you were not 
so happy as to have such, I am not sure that I 
should have read you this story, as one object I 
had in view was, to show you what a blessing it 
is to have parents, who are too wise and kind to 
spoil their children by over-indulgence.” 

Arthur. “ There is a boy at my school — John 
Jackson — whom this story would suit exactly ; he 
is always writing to his mamma, to complain of 
something or other, and then she writes about it to 
Mr, Palmer, and sometimes it is found out that 
what he wrote his mamma was not true, and then 
there is such a fuss ; — I wish he could read this 
story, perhaps it would do him good.” 

Rosa. “ There is another thing too, that I do 
wish very much. Aunt Sophy, w’hich is, that the 
next time you are so kind as to write us a story, 
you would w'rite us one about children like our- 
selves, who have a goocipapa and mamma to train 
them rightly.” 

Aunt Sophy. “ I think, my dear, I have already 
written you some of this kind.” 

17 


194 


ELLEN SEYMOUE ; OR, ' 


Rosa. “Yes, but I should like to hear more 
about it, for I want to know very particularly 
what kind of faults we have, and — I cannot ex- 
press exactly what I mean.” 

Aunt Sophy. “ Perhaps, you wish to know to 
what particular faults children religiously educated 
are most liable — is this your meaning, my dear?” 

Rosa. “Yes, Aunt.” 

Aunt Sophy. “Well, I will think about it, and 
try if I can recollect any circumstances, which 
have come under my own observation, which will 
help to illustrate this point, at all events we will 
have some conversation on the subject, at some 
future opportunity. And then, let us always bear 
in mind, that there is one thing which education 
alone cannot do for us — what is that, Emily?” 

Emily. “ It cannot change the heart — do you 
mean. Aunt Sophy?” 

Aunt Sophy. “ Right, my dear, it is only God 
himself who can do that. It would be of no use 
for the husbandman merely to prepare tlic ground, 
for unless good seed were afterwards sown in it, 
it would of itself only bring forth weeds. How 
earnestly, then, ought we all to pray that the 
good seed of the word may be early sown in 
your young hearts, and bring forth fruit abun- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


195 


dantly to the praise and glory of God.” .... 

Farewell, my beloved mother. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, June 30//?. 

. . . . We often avail ourselves of this beau- 

tiful weather, to take tea out of doors, beneath the 
shade of a spreading beach tree, and Salome, even, 
is sometimes able to join our cheerful party. Last 
evening was a particularly happy one. INIr. and 
Miss Leslie were present, and the conversation 
took a most interesting and improving .turn. I 
had my sketch-book out, and was engaged in tak- 
ing a sketch of the little grey church with its old 
dark yew tree, ivyed tower, and latticed windows 
burnished by the setting sun. 

“You are fond of drawing. Miss Seymour?” 
said Mr. Leslie. 

“Very fond — and I have just now a most pic- 
turesque and interesting subject for my pencil.” 

“ Do you view it merely with a painter’s eye, or 
with the veneration inspired by what are termed 
‘ hallowed walls V ” 

“ A mixture of both, I believe,” replied I ; “ though 
it appears to me, that to divest it of its sacred cha- 


196 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


racter would be unspeakably to diminish its inte- 
rest even as an object of pure taste.” 

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Leslie, “ even the p/ace in 
which we have received spiritual blessings be- 
comes, in a sense, hallowed to us, just as any par- 
ticular spot, in which we have been accustomed 
to meet with a friend, acquires from association a 
degree of interest which it otherwise had not pos- 
sessed ; but then in the case of places of worship, 
we must ever remember that it is not the place 
which sanctifies the worship or the worshipper, 
but the presence of the Lord by His Spirit, and 
this, irrespective of place or circumstance. He 
vouchsafes to His believing people, according to 
that gracious promise, ‘Where two or three are 
gathered together in my name, there am I in the 
midst of them.’ This is not promise to placeSy 
but to personsy and we find accordingly, that when 
the Holy Ghost descended on the day of Pentecost, 
it was not on the disciples assembled in the Temple 
or the Synagogue, or any other accredited place 
of worship, but the sacred narrative simply tells us, 
that ‘ they were all with one accord in one place,’ 
probably, ‘ the upper chamber,’ of which we read 
in the previous chapter.” 

“ Do you think then that it is wrong to have 
stated places of worship?” asked I. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


197 


“ I would not say that, for the same spirit of 
bondage which would lead one person to think he 
could be blessed now'here but in a gorgeous cathe- 
dral, might lead another to suppose that blessing 
was confined to the narrow precincts of an ‘ upper 
chamber;’ but what I mean to say is this, that the 
New Testament teaches us not to attach impor- 
tance to things of this kind — its rule as to externals 
is, ‘ let all things be done decently and in order,’ 
while the whole weight of its testimony goes to 
establish tljat sweet and solemn word of our Lord, 

‘ the hour cometh, and now is, when the true wor- 
shippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in 
truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him. 
God is a spirit, and they that worship him must 
worship him in spirit and in truth.’ ” 

“ Such sentiments as those which you have 
expressed would have been uninlelligible to me a 
few months ago,” said I ; “but I have lately learnt 
something of their meaning from witnessing the 
evil tendency of the opposite principle of reverence 
for sacred edifices carried almost to the extent 
of” — I paused for a word, which w'as supplied by 
Mr. Stapleton’s saying, 

“ Of idolatry. Ah, poor Beaumont !” continued 
he, “ the last time he took me to see the alterations 

17 # 


198 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


he was making in his church, because I could not 
go into raptures on the subject of rood-screens, 
painted windows, and stone altars, but rather en- 
deavoured to point out to him that these outward 
things tended only to bind the soul to earth, instead 
of elevating it to the courts above, he shook his 
head, and expressed his conviction that as, to use 
his own words, I had ‘ already ceased to be a 
churchman in heart, so I should ere long cease to 
go to church, and should unite myself with some 
miserable sect of dissenters.’ How completely do 
such persons as poor Beaumont mistake the spi- 
ritual nature of this dispensation — ‘ the ministra- 
tion of the Spirit,’ as it is emphatically called in 
Scripture, and substitute for it the types and 
shadows of that symbolical dispensation which is 
‘ done away,’ and which, glorious as it really was, 
yet has no glory in comparison with the excelling 
glory of that which has superseded it.” 

“Yes, and it would seem impossible, did not 
daily experience, as well as the word of God, con- 
vince us to the contrary, that the most casual 
reader of the Scripture should fail to perceive, that 
the whole current of the Epistles runs counter to 
errors of this kind,” said Mr. Leslie ; “ and even 
•that its greatest force is expended on these very 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


' 199 


Judaising doctrines which, from the Apostles’ time 
downward, have ever been the worst bane in one 
form or the other of the Christian Church.” 

“ True,” replied Mr. Stapleton ; “ and to how 
many professing Christians may not the language 
of the Apostle to the Jews be applied, ‘ They could 
not steadfastly look to the end of that which is 
abolished ; for until this day remaineth the same 
vail untaken away in the reading of the Old Tesla- '' 
ment; which vail is done away in Christ. But 
even unto this day, when Moses is read, the vail is 
upon their heart.’ Then comes the real standing 
of the believer in Jesus — ‘ But we all, with open 
face beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, 
are changed into the same image, from glory to 
glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.’” 

“ And the Epistle to the Hebrews,” said Mr. 
Leslie, “ how like the sun shining in noontide 
splendour does it pour the flood of Gospel light 
upon the Church, dispelling the twilight of the 
Mosaic ordinances, while at the same time it so 
gloriously explains and fulfils what those .speaking 
shadows set forth — ‘ shadows of things to come, 
but the body is of Christ,’ as says the Apostle, 
Col. ii. 17.” 

“ ‘ We are all the children of light, and the 


200 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


children of the day ; we are not of the night, nor 
of darkness.’ What a beautiful passage is that,” 
observed Mrs. Stapleton; “and how does it show 
us where our true place is, as even now ‘ quick- 
ened together with Christ, and raised up together, 
and made to sit together in heavenly places in 
Christ Jesus.’ ” 

I looked at Salome — her eyes were closed, but 
it was evident from the expression of her counte- , 
nance that she was, indeed, rapt away in spirit 
into the heavenlies. I felt the power of the truth 
upon my own soul, and could not help exclaiming, 

“ These are the words of Him who cannot lie, and 
they must mean what they say.” 

“Yes, my dear Miss Seymour,” said Mr. Sta- 
pleton, “ they do mean what they say, and they are 
true of every, even the feeblest believer in Jesus, 
for salvation from first to last is of God; for we 
read in the same place, that it was ‘ when we who 
were by nature the children of wrath, even as 
others, dead in sins, walking after the course of 
this world, fulfilling the desires of the flesh, and of 
the mind,’ that ‘ God, who is rich in mercy, for the 
great love wherewith he loved us,’ bestowed freely 
upon us all the unspeakable blessings of which we 
have been hearing.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


201 


“ How entirely then,” said I, “ are we, accord- 
ing to these passages, united to Christ; and what 
a flood of light does this let in upon my soul, for 
now I can understand how persons of the most 
opposite opinions, on minor points, can be accepted 
of God — it is because they are one in Christ, and 
therefore have a centre of unity beyond and above 
all earthly points either of meeting or dividing.” 

“ Thank God, my dear young friend,” said Mr. 
Stapleton, his benevolent countenance beaming 
with heartfelt satisfaction; “thank God, that he 
has shown you this great truth. Surely w’e ought 
to praise him for that which occasioned rejoicing 
of spirit to Jesus, for it is written of him, ‘ In that 
hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, 
O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast 
hid these things from the wise and prudent, and 
revealed them unto babes; even so. Father, for so 
it seemed good in thy sight.’ ” 

Salome also turned her eyes upon me with a look 
of such unutterable love and thankfulness as, I 
think, will never be obliterated from my memory. 

“ Oh, it has made me so happy,” cried I, while 
tears of joy involuntarily filled my eyes, “ for I have 
been lately so puzzled on this subject. Of course, 
before I knew anything of the truth, I used to take 


202 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


it for granted, that every one who led an outwardly 
blameless life was sure of salvation; but of late, 
since I began to inquire the way of truth, I have 
heard so much about ‘ the Church,’ and the impos- 
sibility of any one, however holy and devoted, 
being saved out of her pale, at the same time that 
there seemed almost equal uncertainty as to the 
exact mode by which salvation was to be obtained 
even within it, that I have become quite bewildered, 
and the most painful perplexities have agitated my 
mind; but now they are all solved, for I see that 
what is termed in Scripture ‘ the Church,’ is not 
confined to any particular section of Christians, 
comprehends the whole body of believers, who are 
united to Christ by living faith.” 

“Yes; ‘The whole assembly and Church of the 
first-born, whose names are written in heaven,’” 
said Mr. Leslie, ‘“the Church which is his body, 
the fulness of him that filleth all in all.’ ” Heb. xii. 
23, and Ephes. i. 22, 23. 

“What wonderful language,” exclaimed I; “and, 
oh, how can I enough praise the Lord for reveal- 
ing to me this glorious truth, that believers are all 
one in Christ; and what a master-key is this to the 
solution of other difficulties, which have seemed to 
me inexplicable !” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


203 


“Yes,” said Mr. Stapleton, “with that word, 
‘Accepted in the Beloved,’ (Ephes. i. 6,) graven 
upon our hearts, how wide can we open the arms 
of our love and charity to embrace every one of 
whom we believe this to be true, whatever may be 
his name and denomination among men; and how 
easy does obedience to that sweet exhortation thus 
become, ‘ Receive ye one another as Christ also 
received us to the glory of God.’ ” (Rom. xv. 7.) 

“ But you would not say that brotherly love re- 
quires us to compromise any principle of import- 
ance ?” said Miss Leslie. 

“ I would not say, my dear Sophy, that it re- 
quires us to coinpromise any principle at all,” 
replied Mr. Stapleton ; “ but this I would say, let 
love to each other as brethren in Christ, as child- 
ren of one Father, as heirs of a common salvation, 
rise paramount to every other consideration. Let 
us take our stand in the only centre of real unity, 
redemption in the blood of Christ, and then we 
need not be afraid, to look our differences in the 
face, because they will not interfere with that 
grand absorbing fact of our indissoluble oneness 
in the Lord Jesus. How is it with an affectionate 
and united family after the flesh ? — they have di- 
versities of temper, differences of judgment, va- 


204 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


riety of individual interests, but then they never 
forget that they are one family, ^ndi they have love 
enough to bear and forbear, because they never 
lose sight of that w^hich they have in common — 
their birth and parentage.” 

“ Oh, that it were so with the heavenly family,” 
said Mr. Leslie, “ that they knew a little better 
what that means, ‘ forbearing one another in love.’ 
(Ephes. iv. 2.) We hear much in these days 
about ‘ separation’ and ‘ division’ on account of 
minor points of difference, but how much more 
Christ-like does it seem to me to seek to unite with 
that on which we agree, than to separate from that 
on which we differ.” 

“Yes,” said Miss Leslie, “ because how broad 
and immoveable the basis of the one, how narrow 
and fluctuating that of the other !” 

“ In that full length portrait of heavenly love, 
1 Cor. xiii.” said Mr. Stapleton, “ we find not one 
word of separating from our brethren in Christ on 
account of their mistakes and infirmities, but we 
find much, oh ! how much, about ‘ long suffering,* 

‘ hearing all things* ‘ hoping all things* ‘ believing 
all things* ‘ endunng all things* and this is just 
the manner, not of men, but of the Lord Jesus ; for 
if He ceased to hold fellowship with us because of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


205 


that which he sees of evil, and foolish, and igno- 
rant in our ways, surely he had long ago been 
estranged from us altogether; but his love is un- 
changeable, because he finds its source in himself, 
and we must draw from that same fountain of liv- 
ing waters if we would have unfailing love to- 
wards our brethren.” 

“ But,” said Miss Leslie, “ there must be a limit 
to our forbearance, that is, if it involves participa- 
tion in that which is evil ; for instance, I may be 
assured in my own mind that some particular 
member of the Church of Rome is a true believer 
in Christ, and therefore that he is equally with my- 
self an heir of salvation, but I am not on that ac- 
count to unite with him in celebrating Mass, or 
doing homage to the Virgin.” 

“ Certainly not,” returned Mr. Stapleton, “ be- 
cause these are points on which Scripture is ex- 
press, for it is written, * Where remission of sins 
is, there is no more offering for sin,’ and ‘ Thou 
shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shall 
thou serve;’ (Heb. x. 18, Matt, iv. 10,) but we 
need not suppose extreme cases, for which there 
is no explicit direction, neither are we to take 
leave of our spiritual senses, so as to be unable to 
‘ try things that differ ;’ (Phil. i. 10, marg.) but it 
18 


206 


ELLEN SEYMOUR: OR, 


is in cases of every-day occurrence, upon subjects 
that all agree to be of minor importance, that we 
so sadly fail to ‘ fulfil the law of Christ.’ What 
we want is more of that spirit which dictated 
Rom. xiv., taking heed, above all, to that word, 

‘ For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink, 
but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy 
Ghost ; for he that in these things serveth Christ is 
acceptable to God, and approved of men.’” 

“ What a delicious feeling it is to love all who 
love Christ,” said Mrs. Stapleton, “ or rather I 
should say what a divine exercise of the soul, for 
‘ God is love, and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth 
in God, and God in him.’ ” (1 John iv. 16.) 

“ True,” said Mr. Leslie, “ and I have lately so 
sweetly realized the blessedness of the communion 
of saints as saints, apart from every other bond of 
union, from the intercourse I have had with Mr. 
Ashton, who is truly an honoured servant of Christ, 
though he ‘ followeth not with us’ in all things. 
When we meet we often discuss the points on 
which we are not of one mind, but our diversity 
of judgment on these seems only to enhance the 
glory and preciousness of those on which we are 
agreed, and we never dream of allowing our differ- 
ences to cast even the semblance of a shadow 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


207 


across the path of our fellowship in Christ. Who 
am I that I should lightly esteem one whom the 
Lord so signally honours ? I rejoice in all the 
good effected by his instrumentality, and I am sure 
that he as cordially bids me ‘ God speed.’ ” 

“ Right, my dear Leslie, Ashton is a blessed man 
of God, and may you and I follow him as far as 
he follows Christ,” said Mr. Stapleton ; “ and may 
we all seek to get this truth more and more deeply 
imprinted upon our hearts, that it is not any out- 
ward rite, or any Church privilege whatever, 
which can make a child of God. Only He who 
created the universe can create the soul anew, for 
it is * to as many as receive him that he gives 
power to become the sons of God, even to them 
that believe on his name ; which were born, not of 
blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of 
man, but of God. ” (John i. 12, 13.) 

“ Do you not then attach any efficacy to the ordi- 
nances of Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper ?” in- 
quired I. 

“Not to effect conversion, nor as in any way 
rendering the condition of the unregenerate more 
favourable for salvation. When rightly observed, 
as privileges, they are unspeakably blessed — as 
duties, imperatively incumbent — but as substitutes 


208 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


for the work of Christ, and for the direct power 
and agency of the Holy Ghost, they are worse than 
valueless. But I am always fearful of being mis- 
understood in speaking on this subject, for the 
transition from the use of ordinances to their abiLse 
is so easy, and they have been in our days so 
awfully perverted from their true intent and signi- 
fication, that in the endeavour to oppose one form 
of evil, it is difficult to avoid, at least in appear- 
ance, running into the opposite extreme of under- 
valuing these sacred institutions ordained by Christ 
himself, to be memorials of perpetual obligation to 
his Church during his absence from her.” 

“ But is it not most sad and perplexing,” said I, 
“ that the Church of Christ should be split into so 
many sects and parties, each one claiming for itself, 
in some measure, to be the sole depository of 
divine truth, and the only standard of right prac- 
tice ?” 

“ It is most humbling and lamentable that it 
should be so,” replied Mr. Stapleton, “ but we must 
take the Church of Christ as we find it — as a whole 
shivered in 'pieces, but each individual fragment as 
precious as ever. But since its visible oneness, as 
constituted by God himself, is marred and gone, 
let us not attempt to substitute for it an unity of our 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


209 


own devising, cemented by earthly ties, but let us, 
beholding it as Christ still beholds it — one in him 
now, and to be soon manifested as one with him 
when he shall appear in his glory, ‘ to present it to 
himself a glorious Church, not having spot or 
wrinkle, or any such thing, but holy and without 
blemish,’ (Ephes. v. 27,) — let us, I say, endeavour 
so to behave to each other while travelling together 
through this wilderness, as to prove to the world 
that we really do believe these wonderful truths, 
not by ‘ biting and devouring’ those who differ from 
us, but by showing love to all who show love to 
Christ.” 

“ But,” said Miss Leslie, “ amid the conflicting 
sentiments, erroneous doctrines, and jarring inte- 
rests of what, in the present day, is called the * re- 
ligious world,’ does it not almost amount to impos- 
sible to maintain one’s fidelity to what one con- 
scientiously believes to be the truth of God, and 
at the same time to show love to the individuals 
who compose these heterogeneous elements ?” 

“ I am glad, my dear Sophy,” replied Mr. Sta- 
pleton, “ that you have used the word individuals, 
for we are little people, and move in a narrow 
sphere; and therefore what we have to do is ‘as 
much as in us lies,’ and as far ‘ as we have oppor- 
18* 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


210 

tunity,’ to carry out this great principle of loving 
our brethren for the Lord’s sake. That it is en- 
compassed with difficulties I admit, and where is 
the divine precept which can be obeyed in the 
spirit of it, without our surmounting not only diffi- 
culties, hut impossibilities ? — but then faith triumphs 
over all, for ‘ all things are possible to him that 
believeth.’ Of course we shall need fresh supplies 
of wisdom to meet fresh difficulties, but then as a 
rule for our conduct, there never can be anything 
added to that new and perfect commandment of 
our blessed Lord, that ‘ we love one another as He 
has loved us.’” (John xv. 12.) ' 

“ You will think me very pertinacious, I fear,” 
rejoined Miss Leslie, “but it is still a question in 
my mind — how far we are to go in external things 
with those that differ from us ?” 

“ Well, in answer to that I w'ould say — go as far 
as you can. Embrace every opportunity of union, 
and let separation, when unavoidable, be strange 
and painful work. Oh, I am persuaded, that if 
there were but a heart filled with love, innumerable 
ways would present themselves in which it would 
flow out towards others ; — ways of which we now 
never dream, because of the coldness and narrow- 
ness of our affections, according to the spirit of that 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


211 


beautiful hymn, which, in contemplation of such a 
blessed state of things, expresses itself thus : — 


‘ When free from envy, scorn, and pride. 
Their wishes all above. 

Each can his brother’s failings hide. 

And share a brother’s love. 

‘ When love in one delightful stream. 
Through every bosom flows : 

When union sweet and kind esteem 
In every action glows. 

‘ Come, then, and crown thy work of grace. 
Immortal, heavenly Dove ! 

All envy from our hearts erase, 

And teach our souls to love.’ ” 


After singing these sweet stanzas our party broke 
up ; but the conversation which I have recorded, 
left an impression upon my mind as new and de- 
lightful as I trust it may be deep and lasting. I 
could not sleep all last night for thinking over the 
many portions of Scripture, which had been brought 
before me on the preceding evening, and a number 
of others also came to my mind, all with a vivid- 
ness and reality of which I could not previously 
have formed any conception. And then — the in- 
effable peace w'hich they diffused throughout my 
spiritual frame ! surely, it was * the peace of God 


212 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


which passeth all understanding.’ I apprehended 
salvation to be entirely of God in Christ, and I was 
enabled by faith to cast myself, body, soul, and 
spirit, for time and eternity into the arms of ever- 
lasting love, and to feel that I, even I, am ‘ ac- 
cepted in the Beloved.’ — Oh, my precious mother, 
grieve no more about me, but thank God for his 
goodness to your poor, unworthy, but happy, happy 
child. He has taken from me earthly wealth, to 
bestow upon me ‘ durable riches and righteous- 
ness;’ He has brought me low now, that hereafter 
He might raise me up ‘ to inherit a throne of 
glory.’ — What an exchange ! * Bless the Lord, O 
my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy 
name !’ And that ‘ the blessing of the Lord, which 
maketh rich and addeth no sorrow with it,’ may 
be yours, my beloved mother, is the prayer of 
Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, July 29t/i. 

Yesterday morning, at breakfast 

time, a letter arrived from Mr. Beaumont, and soon 
afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton set out for the 
Rectory ; the latter said significantly to me, as she 
stepped into the carriage, “You will know the 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


213 


reason of this hasty departure when we return, but 
at present we are ourselves only partially informed 
of it.” — They did not return till the evening, when 
we were all equally surprised and pleased to see 
that they were accompanied by Clara and Agatha 
Beaumont. The joy of the children at meeting 
was, on both sides, unbounded, and my late pupils 
embraced me with every demonstration of the 
warmest affection. Mrs. Stapleton soon found an 
opportunity to inform me, that they had received 
this hasty summons to the Rectory in consequence 
of Miss Delamotte’s having openly avowed her 
attachment to the Church of Rome, and determina- 
tion to follow the example of Mr. Francis Beau- 
mont, and number herself among the ranks of con- 
verts to Popery. Mrs. Stapleton said, that grievous 
as was this fresh instance of the power of error, 
it was counterbalanced by the evidently salutary 
effect which so unexpected a catastrophe had al- 
ready produced upon the mind of Mr. Beaumont. 
It appeared as if his proud, erect nature had been 
laid completely prostrate; less, perhaps, by the 
suddenness of the stroke, than by the mortification 
of hearing Miss Delamotte plainly declare, in an- 
swer to his expressions of surprise and remon- 
strance, that her present views were the result of 


214 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


the doctrines which he had himself so strenuously 
inculcated in his ministrations both public and pri- 
vate; and she added her conviction that he could 
not possibly remain where he was, but must either 
recede, or take the step which would place him 
side by side with his brother and herself. 

“And Mrs. Beaumont?” 

“ Oh, this event is not an unexpected one to her; 
and thankfulness for its softening influence upon 
the mind of her husband, and joy at the removal 
of Miss Delamotte from the charge of her chil- 
dren are, at present, her prevailing feelings. I am 
the bearer of a most kind message from both her- 
self and Mr. Beaumont to you, my dear; — they 
both desired me to thank you for all your past at- 
tention to their children, and to entreat you to allow 
them to share with our own little ones your kind 
care, while under our roof, as they are not to re- 
turn home till another governess is provided for 
them ; and to whom do you think the sole charge 
of procuring a suitable one is entrusted ? — to my- 
self.” 

Tears of joy filled my eyes as I exclaimed, “ But 
are there no restrictions — no reservations ?” 

“None whatever, excepting that she be such an 
one as I should approve for my own family.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


.•215 

“ And this from Mr. Beaumont ! What a sudden 
change !” 

“ Not quite so sudden, probably, as* it appears to 
us, for Mrs. Beaumont says she has perceived much 
secret working in her husband’s mind ever since 
his brother’s secession from Protestantism, but that 
he had seemed determined to stifle his convictions 
by plunging still deeper into the mazes of his own 
modified system of error, when this second blow, 
as with irresistible power, brought him to a stand, 
and forced him to listen to the warnings of con- 
science and the appeals of truth.” 

“ But do you think it is really conversion ?” 
inquired I. 

“ It is impossible at present to give an opinion 
as to that — time alone can decide the all-imporlant 
question ; but even now one point of immense value 
is attained, in his tacit admittance of the near rela- 
tionship between Puseyism and Popery, as proved 
by his earnest desire to place his children at once 
under evangelical instruction. It was an affecting 
spectacle to witness his softened tone of feeling, for 
those who know Mr. Beaumont’s character can 
form some idea of the intensity of the furnace re- 
quisite to melt down such a nature as his. He 
really wept at parting with his children, and his 


210 ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 

manner both to them and to ourselves was so full 
of tenderness and affection, that it spoke volumes 
as to the change working within.” 

“ And Miss Delamotte — where is she?” 

“ She left yesterday. As soon as she found that 
Mr. Beaumont received the avowal of her senti- 
ments, not only with disapprobation, but even 
abhorrence, she threw off the mask, and, accusing 
him of having helped, by his tenets, to lead her 
mind to the point at which it had arrived, boldly 
charged him with hypocrisy in remaining in a 
communion of which she felt assured he was in 
heart no true member. The parting scene was, I 
understand, to the last degree painful, though hap- 
pily cut short by this violent and bigoted woman 
declaring that she would not remain a day longer 
under the roof of so perfidious and recreant a spirit 
as Mr. Beaumont ; and, suiting the action to the 
word, she packed up her things, and departed.” 

And here, my dear mamma, ought we not to 
pause, and return thanks to God for his signal mer- 
cy in preserving me from the perils which to others, 
in the same situation as myself, have proved fatal? 
When I look back to the period at which I entered 
Mr. Beaumont’s house, there was nothing in me to 
ensure exemption from these snares, but rather 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


217 


every thing to render me liable to fall into them. 
Young, ignorant, inexperienced and unsuspicious, 
anxious to know the way of truth, and ready to 
learn from any one who professed to have found 
it — I tremble when I reflect how peculiarly I was 
fitted to become a recipient of these delusive errors. 
But the Lord, in his tender mercy, kept me from 
evil, and made all that happened subservient to his 
own gracious purposes of mercy towards me, both 
for time and eternity. 

I continue to have, from time to time, very in- 
teresting and to me profitable conversations with 
dear Salome. She has, for one so young, a sur- 
prising gift in turning to account the every-day 
incidents of life, which imparts a peculiar charm 
to her society. For example, yesterday afternoon, 
Mrs. Fenton, a lady residing in the neighbourhood, 
accompanied by her youngest daughter. Miss 
Fanny Fenton, paid Oakwood a visit. Miss 
Fanny Fenton, a pretty-looking girl, of about 
seventeen, expressed a great wish to see Salome, 
pleading that she had not seen her since last Christ- 
mas vacation. Salome received her visitor with 
her usual sweetness of manner, saying, “ Now, 
dear Fanny, you must tell me all about yourself, 
and what you have been doing since we last met; 

19 


218 


ELLEN SEYiMOUR, OH, 


for you know, on my part, I can have but little to 
' communicate that would interest you.” 

“ Ah, indeed — you have been confined to your 
couch ever since — so mamma told me. I am so 
sorry, so grieved,” replied Miss Fanny, with a de- 
ploring accent, and assuming, for an instant, an 
air of seriousness; then suddenly changing her 
tone, she added, “ but I must not make you melan- 
choly. One good thing is, I’ve done with school 
for ever; and now I have nothing but pleasure in 
prospect. Next week I am going to the races, 
and I am to come out at the race-ball ; — Harriet 
and Julia” (her sisters) “ wouldn’t let me though, 
if they could help it, for they are years older than 
lam; and they’re afraid I shall cut them quite out 
— it’s really amusing to see how vexed they look;” 
— but observing that Salome looked grave at this 
speech, and was about to make some remark, she 
added — “ but I know you don’t care about balls, 
or anything of that kind ; neither do I very much; 
only, of course, one must do as others do.” 

“ Must we ?” said Salome, kindly taking the 
hand of her thoughtless friend. “ The Scripture 
commands us not ‘ to follow a multitude to do 
evil.’ ” 

“No, not to do evil, certainly,” said Fanny, 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER, 


219 


looking rather confused, and twirling her watch- 
chain with increased velocity; — “your papa, I 
know, doesn’t approve of these things ; but my 
mamma does; and it would be positive disobedi- 
ence in me if I were to refuse to go.” Then, as if 
fearing some further remark from Salome, she 
hastily opened a drawing-book, and, turning over 
the leaves, said, “You have some beautiful new 
drawings here.” 

“ They are Miss Seymour’s,” said Salome. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Seymour ; I 
thought it was Salome’s book, but they are really 
beautiful. Well, I am glad to say, I have done 
with all these things now.” 

“ But you surely don’t intend giving up your 
music and drawing?” said I. 

“ No, not my music, because that’s so indispen- 
sable in company ; but I am not very fond of draw- 
ing, only mamma says it will be such a shame if I 
don’t keep it all up, when she has been at such a- 
tremendous expense to have me taught. What with 
one thing and another, she says, she is sure my 
education hasn’t cost less than two hundred a year 
for the last three years — those great London 
schools are so dreadfully expensive; but then it is 
such an advantage to be able to say one has learned 


220 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


of first-rate masters.” It was with difficulty that 
Salome and myself could repress a smile at this 
enumeration of the chief advantages to be derived 
from a superior style of education, but Miss Fanny 
did not allow us to make any comment, even had 
we been so disposed, for, looking at her watch, 
she started up, declaring she had not a moment to 
spare ; then bending over Salome, she exclaimed, 
“Well, whether you scold me or not, I must tell 
you that you are the most perfectly angelic being 
one ever beheld, and if I could only look as beau- 
tiful, I would willingly change places with you ; 
then imprinting a kiss on the “ angelic” forehead, 
this volatile creature flew out of the room without 
waiting for a reply. 

A slight blush mantled in Salome’s cheek, but 
otherwise she betrayed not the slightest symptom 
of embarrassment, though I know how sensitively 
she shrinks from notice of this kind. “ Poor 
Fanny,” said she, w'ith a sigh, “ she is just the 
same thoughtless being as ever — it is impossible to 
fix her attention for five minutes upon any merely 
rational subject, much less upon one that is serious 
or spiritual. She is one of those who candidly 
confess their preference for wealth, beauty, and 
fashion, over every other possession ; and so high 


'J'llE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


221 

do they rank in her estimation, that it seems im- 
possible for any argument to reach, and still less 
to weaken her opinion of their importance. Not 
that I am ever able to say much to her, but I have 
been present when papa has talked to her ; she will 
listen with the utmost good-nature to what he has 
to say, and then prove how completely it has been 
all lost upon her by repeating, ‘ Well, Mr. Staple- 
ton, I dare say there is a great deal of truth in 
what you say, but, after all, I should so like to 
have a carriage and four, or a title, or to be as 
beautiful as Lady Salterton.’ How completely,” 
continued Salome, “ with such persons is existence 
a merely present thing, carried on ‘according to 
the course’ of this ‘ present evil world whereas, 
on the contrary, I often fear that the happiness of 
my life consists too much in anticipation.” 

“Is it possible that it can be too much soVl 
said J. 

“ I don’t knows but I sometimes feel as if I w'ere 
too much engrossed by the future.” 

“ But is not that just the effect of faith, to make 
things future seem as if they were present?” 

“You mean,” replied Salome, “according to 
that definition of faith in Heb. xi. 1, ‘Now faith is 
the substance of things hoped for, the .evidence of 

in* 


222 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


things not seen.’ Yes, it is so, but then I feel jea- 
lous over myself on this point, because though I 
have so much to endear me to the present, I have 
so much also to render it trying and painful, and 
to incline me to look forward to that time when 
‘ the former things shall l)e passed away.’ ” (Rev. 
xxi. 4.) 

“You do then really long, dear Salome, to de- 
part and be with Christ ?” 

“ Yes, but not so earnestly as I long for the day 
of His appearing.” 

“ I do not,” said I, “ distinctly comprehend 
wherein the difference consists.” 

“ If I were to depart to be with Christ,” she 
.replied, “ it would, indeed, be far better than to 
remain in this world of sin and suffering ; but still 
death is in itself a mournful thing, because it in- 
volves separation from those we love ; but if the 
Lord were in person to descend from heaven, as 
w'e read 1 Thess. iv. 16, then all the dead saints 
would be raised, and all the living changed, and 
thus the whole Church would be caught up to- 
gether, to meet the Lord in the air, and so should 
we all ever be with the Lord. In this case there 
would be no separation of dead and living, there- 
fore, the Apostle adds, ‘Wherefore, comfort one 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


223 


another with these words.’ Now it is for this day, 
dearest Ellen, that I long ; and it is the thought of 
seeing Jesus as he is, and being made like him, and 
dwelling with him for ever, that sheds such a radi- 
ance over every hour of my present existence.” 

“ What a beautiful thought,” said I, “ and what 
a prospect to keep in view as the termination of 
all the sorrows and trials through which we are 
passing now. I am ashamed to confess how much 
I have been accustomed to regard the resurrection 
of the body, and the second advent of our Lord, as 
doctrines to be believed indeed, because revealed 
in the Scriptures, and professed by the universal 
Church in all ages, but then as so entirely belong- 
ing to a future and undefined period, that I had no 
idea of their practical bearing upon present cir- 
cumstances, or that they could be used as means 
of consolation and encouragement in our passage 
through this time-state.” 

“ And also as the strongest motives to holiness 
of life, and diligence in the service of God,” said 
Salome, “ for, as Mr. Leslie remarked, the last 
time he was here, St. Paul concludes that glorious 
exposition of the doctrine of the resurrection, 1 
Cor. XV. with the exhortation, ‘ Therefore, my 
beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, immoveable. 


221 


Et.LEN SEVMOUU; OR, 


always abounding in the work of the Lord, foras- 
much as ye know that your labour is not in vain 
in the Lord.’ While St. Peter, from the certainty 
of the dissolution of the present material system of 
creation, and the establishment of the new heavens 
and the new earth, presses on the disciples a simi- 
lar exhortation, ‘Wherefore, beloved, seeing that 
ye look for such things, be diligent that ye may be 
found of Him in peace; without spot, and blame- 
less.” (2 Pet. iii. 14.) 

“ I have remarked that this is a theme on which 
Mr. Leslie, like yourself, dear Salome, loves to 
dwell, but till now I never had even a glimpse of 
the exceeding preciousness of the truth contained 
in it ; and perhaps I might say 1 have felt rather 
disinclined to enter upon the subject, fearing it par- 
took of too uncertain and visionary a character 
to be of every-day usefulness, but I see I was mis- 
taken.” 

“ I am rejoiced, dearest Ellen, you have disco- 
vered your mistake, for what can be more vague 
■ and indistinct than the notions one formerly enter- 
tained of heaven and a future state ; while what so 
real and definite as the hope set before us in the 
Gospel of the personal coming of the Lord to re- 
ceive us unto himself? There is that in it which 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


225 

the soul can lay hold of — the very substance and 
realization of all it has believed, and wished, and 
hoped below; for says the Apostle John, ‘ Now are 
we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear 
what we shall be, but we know that when He shall 
appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him 
as he is.’ (1 John iii. 2.) And St. Paul says, ‘ Our 
conversation is in heaven, from whence also we 
look for the Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ ; who 
shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned 
like unto his glorious body, according to the work- 
ing whereby he is able even to subdue all things 
unto himself.’ (Phil. iii. 20, 21.) And again, ‘When 
Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall w^e 
also appear with him in glory.’ ” (Col. iii. 4.) 

Oh, my beloved mother, does not our heart burn 
within us when hearkening to such words as these! 
And does it not seem as if we could do or suffer 
anything with such a cheering subject of anticipa- 
tion before us as the speedy coming of our blessed 
Lord I To see Him as he is — to be like him, and 
to be with him for ever— surely when weighed in 
the balance with an eternity of glory, we can say 
of our heaviest and most protracted trials, ‘ light 
affliction, and but for a moment.’ 

Our farther meditation on this most deeply inte- 


226 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


resting subject was interrupted by the entrance of 
Mr. Stapleton with an open letter in his hand. 
Addressing Salome he said, “ This comes, my love, 
from Mr. Chesterfield, and he has at length accept- 
ed my oft-repeated invitations. He has had, it 
seems, a rather severe illness, and is disposed to 
try the effects of domestic quiet, and the pure air 
of the country in restoring him to health.” Then 
turning to me, he added, “ You will not need an 
introduction to our friend, Miss Seymour, as you 
are already acquainted with him ; — it is not impro- 
bable that he may be here as early as to-morrow, 
as he is very impatient to escape from the hurry 
and excitement of London life, of which few, per- 
haps, are more completely the victim than the 
popular preacher.” 

“But,” observed I, “ it always appeared to me 
that this was the element not only suited, but 
actually necessary to Mr. Chesterfield’s very ex- 
istence.” 

“ Not to his spiritual existence— of that it was 
the baAe. I knew Chesterfield,” continued Mr. 
Stapleton, “when a country curate — active in his 
parish — earnest in his pulpit — serious in his de- 
portment, and apparently a humble-minded walker 
with God. Itj an evil hour he exchanged his rural 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


227 


sphere of labour for a fashionable chapel in the 
metropolis; some ladles of rank professed them- 
selves enchanted with his tenets, and his eloquence 
followed him everywhere, and patronized all his 
undertakings; he became suddenly popular, the 
latent sparks of vanity and ambition were fanned 
info a flame, and the unnoticed and unknown coun- 
try curate was transformed into the admired and 
fashionable London preacher.” 

“No doubt this sudden transformation accounts 
for much that was apparently inconsistent in Mr. 
Chesterfield’s character,” observed I. 

“ For all, I believe,” replied Mr. Stapleton ; “ for 
beneath this artificial surface there is really valuable 
material, capable of much improvement, but spoiled 
for present usefulness by that worst of all flatteries 
— the flattery of the religious world.” 

Is it not a rather singular coincidence, that 
Mr. Chesterfield and myself should be brought 
under the same roof, at this distance from the 
metropolis, in a retired country village, where a 
twelvemonth ago I could as little have anticipated 
finding a home, as meeting with him ? I confess I 
do not look forward to this visit with any degree 
of satisfaction ; but I must not prejudge, but rather 
trust that a renewal of our acquaintance may tend 


228 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


to erase from my ^ mind all unpleasant reminis- 
cences of bygone days. 

Yours as ever, my beloved mother, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, August 8th. 

. . . . Mr. Chesterfield arrived on Thurs- 

day at dinner-time ; the traces of recent illness are 
very visible in his appearance, and there is a sub- 
dued softness in his tone and manner which pre- 
sents an agreeable contrast to his former self- 
complacency. He expressed much surprise at 
meeting me here, and also I could not help think- 
ing, that his manner betrayed some degree of 
astonishment at the position I occupy in this family. 
Perhaps, it is a phantom of my own brain, but it 
occurred to me, that the Goldings might have 
given him some strange representation, or rather 
misrepresentation of me, and my circumstances — 
but I must not indulge surmisings, which only 
serve to excite unpleasant and uncharitable feel- 
ings. 

In the evening we all walked to the village, to 
visit some of the poor people, and as Mr. Chester- 
field walked by my side, I had an opportunity of 
making many inquiries after former friends and 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 229 

acquaintances in town, and in particular after 
Agnes Beaumont, and the Goldings, for I must tell 
you that my correspondence with the former has 
gradually declined, and finally ceased, since my 
sentiments on religious subjects have become de- 
cided in favour of evangelical truth. Mr. Chester- 
field gave me every information- in his power re- 
specting Agnes, speaking freely, and deploringly 
of her bigoted attachment to the errors of Pusey- 
ism ; but of the Goldings he was either unwilling 
or unable to say much, scrupulously avoiding any 
allusion to the time of my probation there, and 
waiving the subject altogether as soon as possible. 
There was a consciousness in his manner of men- 
tioning even their names, which showed that the 
recollections connected with them were for some 
reason not of the most agreeable nature, and yet 
there was nothing in what he said, which would 
lead me to infer that he was on less intimate terms 
with them than formerly. But one thing is plain, 
which is, that he is desirous by every polite atten- 
tion to make amends for former neglect, and to 
efface from my mind any unpleasant impression it 
might have received. I fear you will think me vain, 
but I assure you it is not my own observation only, 
but that of all my friends here, who often smile at 
20 


230 ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 

the assiduous endeavour there is on his part to an- 
ticipate my wishes, and defer my judgment on 
every subject and occasion. 

Mr. Chesterfield preached here once on Sunday 
— I am surprised to think I should ever have en- 
joyed his preaching as much as I formerly did. 
Compared with what I am accustomed to hear 
from Mr. Leslie, and still more with what little I 
discern of the vastness of Scripture truth, his 
statements appear to me meagre, and deficient in 
depth and clearness. His language, as I believe I 
formerly told you, is astonishingly fluent, though 
wanting in that simplicity of expression which 
arrays but not disguises the majesty of a sublime 
subject; while his pathetic appeals, forcible ad- 
dresses, and impassioned tones, are well calculated 
to awaken the sympathies, and excite the feelings 
of those by whom the flowers of rhetoric are more 
prized than the weighty realities of sound doctrine. 
But you must not suppose, because I write thus, 
that I have entirely ceased to value Mr. Chester- 
field’s ministry. — Oh no, for there is much in it 
which is both valuable and interesting, and would 
be far more so if freed from the extraneous orna- 
ment with which it is encumbered; but I speak 
comparatively, and as contrasting present with 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


231 


former feelings. Indeed I am sometimes almost 
inclined to envy those I formerly experienced, 
when I recall the intense emotion with which I 
first listened to the glad tidings of salvation through 
faith in a crucified Saviour. For Mr. Chesterfield, 
as the instrument in God’s hand of awakening me 
from the sleep of carnal security, and guiding my 
earliest steps in the way of life, I must ever retain 
sentiments of gratitude of no common order ; and 
I could not forbear, as we walked home from 
church, expressing to him something of the feel- 
ings which I so truly entertain upon this subject. 
I was, however, afterwards sorry that I had made 
any disclosure of the kind, as the extreme delight 
with which he received my thanks for what ap- 
peared to me so very simple and just a cause of 
gratitude, surprised and even pained me.- He has 
recurred to it again and again, and seems to as- 
sume from it a title to an intimacy of acquaintance 
with my sentiments, and an increased attachment 
to my society, which it is far from my desire to 
encourage, and which yet I find it very difficult to 
repress, as I believe he really does take a deep inter- 
est in my spiritual welfare. He is daily expecting 
to be presented to a valuable living ; and I confess I 
am rather surprised at the anxiety he evidently feels 


232 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


about it, as he is already amply provided for, having, 
besides his church preferment, considerable private 
property. To those who like ourselves have suf- 
fered the loss of all, and to whom by the grace of 
God it has been sanctified in revealing to them 
“ durable riches and righteousness,” how insignifi- 
cant do the wealth and honours of this perishing 
world appear — with truth can I say, that I covet 
nothing more than the daily supply of my neces- 
sities, earned, if such be the Lord’s will, by my 
own exertions. For my beloved parents 1 confess 
that a wish beyond this w'ill sometimes intrude 
itself; but I do not even for them cherish desires 
after earthly prosperity. What a balm is it to my 
heart to hear from you that my dearest father de- 
rives his sweetest consolation, under all his trials, 
from the perusal of my letters ; and that it is his 
nightly occupation, after the toils of a London day 
are over, to search out for himself in the Scripture 

the texts I quote 

. . . . Yesterday, Mr. Graves, the new 

clergyman of the adjoining parish of S , with 

his wife and daughters, dined and spent the day 
here. Mr. Graves is a thin, sallow, gloomy-looking 
man, of few words, and fewer smiles. There is no 
doubt that he is most sincere and conscientious, 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


233 


both as a Christian and a minister; but religion in 
him does not assume an attractive form — it does 
not, as with Mr. Stapleton and Mr. Leslie, seem to 
be interwoven with his very existence, but rather 
to be a something super-added, which he is carry- 
ing about with him to his own restraint, and the 
.awe of others, for really his manner is such that it 
impresses the idea of sinfulness upon every attempt 
not only to be cheerful, but even easy and natural 
in his presence. Mrs. Graves is something of the 
same stamp as her husband, only rather more ac- 
cessible and communicative; her attire is plain to 
excess, not the refined plainness of Mrs. Beaumont, 
but bordering on the grotesque and the untidy. 
The two daughters, Esther and Rachel, girls of 
twelve and thirteen years of age, are just what you 
might suppose the children of such parents would 
be — formal in their manners, and singular in their 
appearance. I fear you will think me satirical; 
but if I am to draw a faithful picture of these good 
people, I cannot delineate them otherwise than I 
have. What a pity it is that persons so really es- 
timable should, by such unmeaning peculiarities, 
obscure their merit, and mar their usefulness, for 
to the worldly-minded they certainly must be ob- 
jects of aversion and ridicule, instead of regard 
20 * 


234 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


and respect; and this not so much on account of 
superior sanctity, as of needless eccentricities. In- 
deed, it appears that such is actually the case, for 
Mrs. Graves gave us a detailed statement of the 
various annoyances — persecutions she called them 
— to which her husband had been subjected since 
his residence in the parish, and which she attri- 
buted solely to the opposition of the people to the 
truth, but which Mr. Stapleton seems to think may 
be in some measure owing to the cause I have 
mentioned. 

After dinner, we all walked upon the lawn, when 
Rosa suddenly left her young companions, and, 
without saying anything, gently slid her arm within 
mine. 

“ What is the matter, Rosa,” said I. “ Why 
have you so abruptly deserted your young friends'?” 

“ Oh, Miss Seymour,” whispered she, they are 
not my friends ; — I don’t like Esther and Rachel 
Graves at all.” 

“ And why not, my dear?” 

“ Oh, they are such strange girls, and rude too, 
for they asked me just now, almost loud enough for 
Clara and Agatha to hear, whether ‘ they were not 
the daughters of that dreadful Puseyite, Mr. Beau- 
mont; and whether they were not brought up to 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


235 


believe that they would be saved if only they built 
churches with painted windows?” 

“ And what did you reply ?” 

“ I said that my uncle was not ‘ dreadful,^ that 
we all loved him dearly, and that my cousins did 
not believe that building churches would save any 
one; and then Esther looked at Rachel, and nodded 
her head, and said that ‘ they knew more about 
Puseyites than I did and then I. left them, for I 
did not like their manners at all.” 

“ Well, rhy dear,” said I, “ we will talk about 
this another time, but you must not leave your 
guests now; — go, and try to entertain them; and, 
perhaps, you will find they have some good quali- 
ties, which you have not yet discovered.” 

Rosa slowly withdrew her arm from mine, and 
rather reluctantly went to join the young party ; 
but I saw that her mind was at work, and that she 
had more to say. The opportunity for finishing her 
communications was soon afforded her, as the 
Graves’ left early in the evening; no sooner were 
they fairly out of sight, than Rosa, addressing 
Miss Leslie, said, “ Aunt Sophy, I do think I have 
found out something all by myself, which I very 
much wished to know.” 


236 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ Have you, my dear ? lam very glad to hear 
it; — may I ask what your discovery is 

“ Why don’t you remember a long time ago you 
were so good as to promise that you would tell us 
something about the kind of faults to which the 
children of religious parents are most liable? — 
well, 1 really think I have found out one of them 
to-day without any one telling me.” 

“And what led your mind to make this disco- 
very ?” 

“ I will tell you — but, first, I want to know 
whether there are not different kinds of pride ; and 
whether there is not such a thing as religious 
pride ?” 

“ Yes, my dear — it is generally called spiritual 
pride.” 

“ Then, this is the fault I mean to which I think 
the children of religious parents are liable ; — for I 
think I see that Esther and Rachel Graves have 
spiritual pride.” 

“ And what is your reason for thinking so ?” 

“ Because they seem to think they. are so much 
better than other people. When we went into the 
play-room, and they asked us our names, they said 
they were surprised that our papa and mamma, 
who were religious people, should give us such 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


237 


worldly names, for that their papa would never 
allow his children to be named any but Scripture 
names. Then they said that Emily did not look 
like the child of Christian parents, because she had 
such a quantity of curling hair; and when I told 
them it curled naturally, they said, so did their 
little sister’s, but their mamma had had it all cut 
off, for fear it should make her vain, and because 
it was so much trouble.” 

“ I think that last reason is a very good one,” 
said Mrs. Stapleton, “ as Mr. Graves is not rich, 
and cannot afford to keep many servants.” 

“ But then, mamma, they seemed to think that 
they were so much better than us, and their papa 
and mamma so much more religious than ours, 
because of these things. And then when we went 
into the garden, they said they were surprised that 
we had blue ribbons on our bonnets, for that their 
mamma never allowed them to wear anything but 
drab, or brown, or straw colour; and as to a bow, 
they never had such a thing in their lives.” 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Graves’ motive is economy,” 
said Miss Leslie, “ as it takes more ribbon to trim 
a bonnet with bows than without them.” 

“ Perhaps it may be, but they did not say that 
was the reason ; they said all these things were 
worldly vanities, not fit for converted people.” 


238 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


“ And are then these young people converted'!” 
asked Miss Leslie. 

Rosa coloured and hesitated ; at length she said, 
“ I don’t know, but I believe they think themselves 
so.” • 

“ And what answer 'did you make to all these 
new remarks ?” said Mrs. Stapleton. 

“ I did not know what to answer,” replied Rosa; 
“ and mamma, do you know I could not help feel- 
ing very uncomfortable while they were talking in 
this way.” 

“ Why so, my love?” 

“Why, mamma, I could not help thinking that 
perhaps they were right, and that we ought not to 
wear nice and pretty things, and then I felt very 
unhappy. And now, mamma, I want to ask you 
a question ; will you tell me why you do not dress 
as plainly and as shabbily as Mrs. Graves?” 

“ That is rather a difficult question to answer, 
because, as I have before told you, I do not know 
what Mrs. Graves’ motives may be ; but if, as her 
children seem to suppose, it is because she does 
not think more attention to dress consistent with 
the character of a Christian, I could not, perhaps, 
quite agree with her. But suppose I give you my 
opinion on this subject without referring at all to 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


230 


what Mrs. Graves or any one else thinks or 
does?” 

“ Oh, thank you, mamma, that is just what I 
wish.” 

“ Well, then, it has always been the desire of 
your dear papa and myself, ever since the Lord 
was graciously pleased to bring us to the know- 
ledge of himself, to seek that all our ways might 
be guided by ‘ simplicity and godly sincerity.’ We 
took these blessed words for our rule and directory 
— our motto — and, in obedience to them, we en- 
deavoured, on the one hand, to avoid conformity 
with the wrong principles, evil ways, and foolish 
vanities of the world; and, on the other, to avoid 
needless singularity, and neglect of the harmless 
customs of society. Therefore with respect to 
dress, simpliciti/, both as regards myself and my 
children, has been the rule by which I have been 
guided; and my idea of simplicity is, that it con- 
sists in neatness and suitability, as far removed 
from singularity and untidiness as from fashion 
and finery. And if I were asked in what I con- 
sider the perfection of Christian attire to consist, 
I should reply — in exciting neither remark nor 
notice of any kind whatever.” 

“ I think, aunt,” said Clara, laughing, “ you must 

\ 


240 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


have succeeded in arriving at your idea of per- 
fection, for I remember my cousin Laura used to 
say, after you had paid us a visit, that she ‘ never 
knew what Mrs. Stapleton had on.’ ” 

“Well, my dear, that is just as it should be. 
And with regard to yourselves, my dear children,” 
continued Mrs. Stapleton, drawing Rosa and 
Emily towards her as she spoke, “ I should indeed 
be grieved to see you, by any affected strictness of 
dress or manner, put on the form of religion in 
your appearance, before you had put on Christ in 
your heart. This would not be ‘ godly sincerity,’ 
but hypocrisy, and may you ever be preserved 
from this worst of deceits — the profession of godli- 
ness without the reality. Do you understand me, 
Rosa ?” 

“ Yes, mamma; and when I think of it again, I 
see that the way in which we are dressed agrees 
with what you mean by simplicity^ for it is neat 
and clean, and suitable to — to” — 

“ To the situation in life in which it has pleased 
God to place you,” said Mrs. Stapleton, “ though 
far less expensive than we might afford you if we 
thought it right to do so.” 

Mrs. Stapleton was here called away, but Rosa 
continued the subject. “ How glad I am that 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


241 


mamma has e.xplained to me what she means by 
•simplicity and sincerity, and how I should like to 
explain it to Esther and Rachel Graves ; it would 
show them how’ mistaken they are in thinking that 
'shabby clothes are a mark of religion, and how 
wrong it is to have spiritual pride, and fancy our- 
selves better than others, because w’e have a Scrip- 
ture name, or straight hair.” 

“ And can spiritual pride exhibit itself in no 
other form?” asked Miss fiCslie. “ Is it not possi- 
ble to think ourselves better and wdser than others 
for the very reason that w^e see and avoid their 
foibles and errors ? For instance, might you not 
be tempted to be pleased with yourself because you 
are the child of parents of superior light and judg- 
tnent, or even on so trivial an account as that of 
being nicely and suitably dressed?” 

. “ I never thought of that,” said Rosa, sorrow- 
fully. 

“Nevertheless, it is only too likely to be the 
case; and this will help to confirm you in the truth 
of your owm supposition, that perhaps the fault to 
which the children of religious parents arc most 
liable, is spiritual pride. Yes, my dear Rosa,” 
continued Miss Leslie, “ it is a mournful and a 
humbling truth that there are no circumstances in 
21 


242 


ELLEN SEYMOUR, OB. 


which we cnn be placed, however favourable they 
may be to ihe cultivation of the better feelings of 
our nature, and for the implantation of religious 
princi[>le, which may not be turned by our evil 
hearts into an occasion of pride and self-exalta- 
tiun.” 

“ How horrid !” exclaimed Rosa ; “ what can 
we do to prevent it V* 

“Endeavour to follow the Scripture precept, 
‘Let nothing be done through strife or vain-glory, 
but in lowliness of mind, let each esteem others 
better than themselves. Look not every man on 
his own things, but every man also on the things 
of others.’ (Phil. ii. 3, 4.) Mak6 this the rule of 
your thoughts, words and ways, and it vYill prove 
the most powerful antidote to pride and self-com- 
placency of every kind and degree ; for how ofien 
do we undervalue others, because we so imper- 
fectly comprehend their motives, or discern their 
merits.” 

Rosa w'as silent, but it was evident her heart 
was touched ; a tear stood in her eye, and imprint- 
ing a kiss on Miss Leslie’s hand, she stole off, as 
if unable to pursue the subject farther. 

Farewell, my dearest mamma. 

Your affectionate child, 

Rllkn vSeymour. 


THE UUO AND THE FLOWEK. 


243 


Oakicood, August 2Qth. 

. . . . You ask, my dear mamma, * whether 
Mr. Chesterfield is still here?’ He is no longer 
under this roof, but he still lingers in the neigh- 
bourhood, having accepted an invitation from Mr. 
Leslie to pay a visit at the Vicarage. As I never 
conceal anything from you, I must tell you, that 
Mr. Chesterfield’s assiduities were at last so point- 
ed and so constant, that they became a matter of 
solicitude with my friends here. Mrs. Stapleton 
very kindly spoke to me on the subject, and on as- 
certaining that his attentions were not agreeable to 
me said, as that was the case he would not be in- 
vited to prolong his stay at Oakwood. 1 cannot 
bring myself to believe that a positive necessity 
exists for all this caution, as it seems so improba- 
ble that there should be any particular meaning in 
his apparent preference for my society, especially 
as no intimation of the kind has ever passed his 
lips to the Stapletons. Still, I am thankful that 
every precaution has been used to pi event, on his 
part, any misunderstanding of my feelings, while 
at the same time the thing^ has been so nicely and 
delicately managed by my kind friends, that he 
cannot possibly suspect me of prematurely imput- 
ing to him sentiments which, perhaps after all, he 


' ■ ELLE.V SEYMOUR; OR, 


844 

does not entertain. Oh, I trust my heart may be 
kept steadfast to the Lord in tlie midst of much 
which is calculated to captivate and ensnare it. 
The weakness of our sex upon subjects of this kind 
is proverbial ; there is something- so flattering to 
our natural vanity in the admiration and esteem of 
one not absolutely disagreeable to us, that it re- 
quires no small amount of resolution to oppose the 
entrance of those self-complacent feelings, whose 
indulgence might lead to the overthrow of our 
wisest and most deeply-rooted convictions. . . 

I had written thus far last night when feeling 
greatly fatigued, I abruptly relinquished my pen, 
and retired to rest. This morning I, as usual, 
arose early, and set out on my accustomed stroll 
before breakfast in the beautiful grounds belonging 
to this sweet place. Having ample time at my 
disposal, I sauntered on until I found myself in a 
shady and retired walk at some distance from the 
house; I had my Psalter in my hand, and was 
meditating on the blessed promises contained in 
the 25th Psalm, unaware of the presence near me 
of any human being, when I was startled by the 
sound of footsteps, and looking up, saw Mr. 
Chesterfield advancing towards me. My first emo- 
tion was that of surprise and annoyance at the 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


245 


interruption, and al»o an involuntary feeling of 
confusion took possession of my senses; but the 
consideration that, this meeting was wholly unpre- 
meditated on my part — probably the same on his 
— and that consequently I had done nothing to be 
ashamed of, at once restored me to composure, 
and enabled me to receive his salutation without a 
semblance of embarrassment. I was immediately 
struck by the alteration in Mr. Chesterfield’s man- 
ner, which was less easy and confident than ordi- 
nary, while my own calm self-possession seemed 
only to increase his constraint and perplexity. He 
began by faltering out something of an apology 
for his ‘ intrusion on my solitude,' then made some 
forced remarks on ‘ the beauty of the scenery,' 
‘ the fineness of the weather,’ and ‘ the difficulty of 
tearing oneself aw'ay from the country at this sea- 
son of the year.' To these and many similar ob- 
servations I made the most natural and obvious 
replies I could, and endeavoured to sustain the 
conversation on the same simple and indifferent 
topics ; but in spile of all my efforts there was a 
perpetual tendeocy to a dearth of matter, threaten- 
ing to end in total and awkward silence. Just as 
this catastrophe became apparently inevitable, it 
was averted by Mr. Chesterfield’s saying with 
21 * 


246 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


some hesitation, “ I trust, Miss Seymour, you will 
not be altogether uninterested in learning that I 
am presented to the living of which I was in ex- 
pectation.” 

I answered, that knowdng he had felt some soli- 
citude on the subject, I was pleased to find that the 

event had not disappointed his wdshes, and begged 

\ 

to offer my congratulations accordingly. 

He seemed dissatisfied with this reply, and 
paused for a few moments, then, as if actuated by 
sotne uncontrollable impulse, w'eht on in a hurried 
manner to say, that “ he flattered himself my in- 
terest in his affairs would not be always of so un- 
selfish a nature — that the very reason he had so 
anxiously desired this addition to his fortune w'as 
'on my account — to snatch me from a state of de- 
pendence, and place me in that position to which 
my birth, attractions, and accomplishments enti- 
lled me, was the fondest aspiration of his heart ; 
his wishes as to the means of effecting this had 
met with success, and now it only remained for 
me to put the crowning point to his hopes and his 
■happiness by accepting himself and his wealth, 
5which he placed at my feet.” I cannot tell you 
half the enthusiastically complimentary things he 
•said, nor give you an idea of the feeling, and fer- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. O47 

vour with which they were uttered. Of his sin- 
cerity I could not entertain a doubt, and the 
consciousness that in my heart there was no re- 
sponse to his ardent profession of boundless and 
unchanging attachment, w'as painful and perplex- 
ing beyond all I could ever have supposed it pos- 
sible to feel under the circumstances of my own 
affections being wholly uncompromised. At length 
he paused, and awaited, seemingly in breathless 
expectation for my reply. Fearing that silence, 
or an evasion of the question would be misrepre- 
sented, I endeavoured gently, but decidedly, to 
express my regret at the declaration he had made, 
as it w’as not in my power to reply to it in the way 
it merited. At the same time, I observed, that I 
could appeal to himself whether there had been 
anything in my conduct, which would justify him 
in expecting a more favourable reception for senti- 
ments of the kind he had expressed. 

At first he appeared thunderstruck, and unable to 
reply — probably he had not anticipated so decided 
a refusal — but, recovering himself, he admitted, 
that during the whole of our intercourse I -had 
never in any way encouraged him to overstep the 
bounds of friendship, but that if my affections were 
disengaged — a supposition on which he laid pecu- 


248 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


liar emphasis — he certainly had hoped, and should 
still continue to hope, that his case was not despe- 
rate. I cannot recollect, much less repeat all that 
passed — indeed, I felt most uncomfortable, for he 
continued to press his suit with such warmth and 
earnestness, and recurred so frequently to the sup- 
position of my affections being pre-engaged, that 
I thought it advisable, intarder to avoid all misap- 
prehension as to my motives, distinctly to state my 
freedom from any obstacle of this kind, while in 
still more positive terms than before I declined lis- 
tening to his proposals ; but the assurance that he 
had no rival to fear seemed only to revive his 
hopes, and to stimulate him to renew his addresses 
with increased energy. Wearied and annoyed at 
his pertinacity, I requested him to leave me, and 
quickened my pace to gain the house; perceiving 
my intention, in a tone of pique, mingled with the 
deepest emotion, he said, “ I cannot believe that 
you arc in earnest — that you really reject me thus 
— it is impossible ! — I shall not regard anything 
that has passed as the real expression of your sen- 
timents — consider it again — consult your friends — 
write to your parents — and surely, surely you will 
revoke the doom you have so hastily pronounced.” 
Then in a hurried, agitated manner bidding me 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


249 


adieu, he flung himself over a little wicket gate 
leading to a narrow and secluded path through the 
shrubbery, and was out of sight in a moment. 

When I reached the house I found that the 
family were assembled at prayers, which allowed 
me opportunity for a little season of retirement in 
my own room, previous to meeting them at the 
breakfast table. Great was the relief of pouring 
out my heart before the footstool of my heavenly 
^ Father, for my feelings had been overwrought and 
agitated by conflicting emotions ; at one nioment I 
was startled by the suggestion, that I ought not for 
the sake of my parents thus abruptly to have de- 
clined so eligible an offer ; that I had no right to 
reject the means of obtaining wealth and influence, 
which Providence, in this way, had placed as it 
were within my grasp. Tlien again, my whole 
soul recoiled at the idea of being actuated on such 
a subject, by any consideration of temporal advan- 
tage, though even under the specious plea of assist- 
ing those for whom I could on a different occasion 
sacrifice happiness, or, perhaps, life itself. Write 
to me, my beloved mother, and assure me that I 
have acted as you can approve. As far as myself 
only is concerned, rather tenfold would I be a 
neglected and despised governess all my days, than 


250 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


obtain affluence and distinction by accepting the 
hand of one to whom I could not give my heart. 

My absence froni prayers was an event of such 
unusual occurrence, that it occasioned many in- 
quiries, particularly among the junior members of 
the family, who were very inquisitive to know the 
direction of my morning walk — whether I had 
been ‘gardening,’ ‘ botanising,’ &c. After break- 
fast, when the party were dispersed, Mrs. Staple- 
ton kindly taking my hand, said, “ You look 
fatigued, my dear, these long, early walks are too 
much for you, I must insist on your giving the 
children a holiday, and taking a little repose, I am 
sure you need it.” The colour mounted to my 
temples, and tears involuntarily started into my 
eyes, as I assured her that I was neither ill nor 
fatigued, and quite equal to going through the du- 
ties of the day. With her customary politeness 
she forbore to press for an explanation, while by 
her tender and sympathizing manner she showed 
herself ready to receive the confidence I might feel 
inclined to bestow. I had no wish to have any 
concealments from so kind and judicious a friend, 
and she was soon in possession of the secret of 
my worn and harassed appearance. “ And now, 
my dear Mrs. Stapleton,” said I, at the conclusion 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


251 


of my narrative, “ what is your opinion — have I 
acted rightly?” “ Perfectly so, rny love,” replied 
she, tenderly embracing me, “ though, of course, 
if Mr. Chesterfield had succeeded in gaining your 
affections, there could be no ostensible reason to 
object to your acceptance of him ; but as the case 
stands, you could not with sincerity act otherwise ; 
neither can I say that I regret his not being the 
object of your choice.” 

“ But he does not believe me in earnest even 
now,” said I, “ w'hat can I do about that? — do you 
think Mr. Stapleton would undertake to convey to 
him my fixed and deliberate decision ?” 

“Cerjainly, my dear; my husband will gladly 
do anything to serve you, and you may safely trust 
your case in his hands.” 

“ But ought I not first to write to my parents ?” 

“ By all means acquaint them as soon as possible 
with W’hat has occurred ; but as you have already 
acted on your own responsibility in refusing Mr. 
Chesterfield, there can be no necessity for you to 
aw’ait their reply, which will assuredly only be a 
confirmation of your previous decision. Besides, 
it will be real charity to put the poor man out of 
suspense ; unless, indeed,” added she archly, “there 
be any hope of his cause gaining by delay.” 


252 


ELLKN SEYMOUR: OR, 


“ Oh, no, no,” cried I. — 

“ Well, then, the sooner matters of this kind are 
set at rest the better ; — but here comes Sophy Les- 
lie, what say you to admitting her to our privy 
council 

“ I can have no reserves with one who has uni- 
formly shown such kind interest in my concerns as 
dear Miss Leslie,” replied I, “ but let us first learn 
w'hether she be not already in the secret.” 

“ I am an early visitor,” said Miss Leslie, as she 
entered the room, “ but as Mr. Chesterfield pro- 
mised last night to accompany me in my next visit 
to those poor people on the common, I thought the 
readiest plan would be to call here for him on my 
way, as I know when under this roof he sdldom 
heeds the flight of time.” 

“You knew then of Mr. Chesterfield’s coming 
here ?’ inquired Mrs. Stapleton. 

“ No, but as he went out early this morning, and 
has not since returned, it was not difficult to con- 
jecture whither he had bent his steps.” 

Miss Leslie’s eyes turned upon me as she spoke ; 
in vain I struggled to command my countenance — 
my glowing cheeks betrayed that I was not the 
uninterested listener I would willingly have ap- 
peared. 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


253 


Mrs. Stapleton, perceiving that I was really un- 
comfortable, said, “ There is nothing, under the cir- 
cumstances, at all extraordinary, my dear, in Mr. 
Chesterfield’s disappearance, as Sophy will agree 
when she is informed of what has occurred.” She 
then, in a very'^simple and delicate manner, gave 
Miss Leslie a sketch of the fa’cts connected with 
my morning walk. When she came to the part re- 
lating to my decided refusal of Mr. Chesterfield, I 
was surprised by Miss Leslie, who has nothing 
romantic or overstrained in her composition, fold- 
ing nne in her arms in a sudden and enthusiastic 
embrace, at the same time exclaiming, “ Oh, my 
dear, dear girl, how rejoiced I am that you have 
had steadfastness to withstand the great allurements 
held out to you, and to prefer poverty and depen- 
dence, with integrity and uprightness, to all that 
which the world — yes, and the religious world too 
— admires and covets, when it could only be pur- 
chased by the sacrifice of principle at the shrine of 
expediency.” 

“ It seems to me,” said I, “ that I have only done 
the most simple thing possible — refuse to give my 
hand where I could not bestow my heart.” 

“ The most simple things are not always the 
most easy of execution,” observed Miss Leslie. 

22 


254 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


“ It is one thing to discern the path of duty, and 
another to walk in it, especially in a case of this 
kind, in which there is so much to dim our percep- 
tion of the scarcely defined boundary which sepa- 
rates right from wrong.” 

“Yes; for instance, what a blinding thing is 
vanity,” said Mrs. Stapleton, “ and to how many 
unhappy marriages is its gratification the chief, or, 
perhaps, only inducement. Ah ! if young people 
did but estimate at their real value the 6clat of 
bridal preparations, and the imaginary dignity con- 
ferred by what is called an ‘ establishment,’ how 
many would shrink from bartering present happi- 
ness for such uncertain acquisitions.” 

“ But you speak of the worldly,” said I, “ for 
surely you cannot mean that these things weigh 
with Christians ?” 

“ Not with the more spiritually-minded,” replied 
she, “ or at least when presented in open and un- 
disguised forms; but there are aspects in which 
things that we even despise may be viewed so as 
to give them an appearance of desirableness, 
against which, I fear, but few professing Chris- 
tians are proof. Besides, we must remember _that 
the strongest are flesh as well as spirit, and that 
the things of time and sense are suited to the 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


255 


tastes of that part of us which is still ‘ of the earth, 
earthy.’ ” 

“Yes,” said Miss Leslie, “and it requires no 
small effort of resolution of some kind or other, 
whether moral or spiritual, or an union of both, to 
refuse so admired and so really fascinating a man 
as Mr. Chesterfield, to say nothing of his ample 
income, certainly, not less than two thousand a 
year, and his high position in religious society, 
which last, to a Christian mind, would constitute 
the most specious and ensnaring of all his recom- 
mendations.” 

“ I suppose then I must be differently constituted 
from the generality of persons,” replied I, “for 
that is just the kind of distinction from which I 
most shrink ; it seems to me so like carrying the 
spirit of the world into the things of God, and 
making the precincts of Christianity a sphere for 
the display of talents, which even the unspiritual 
can admire and applaud.” 

“ May you ever retain this godly simplicity, my 
dear Ellen,” said Miss Leslie, again affectionately 
embracing me ; “ but I must hasten home,” conti- 
nued she, as she rose to depart, “ for I really feel 
very sorry for poor Mr. Chesterfield’s disappoint- 
ment, though I cannot regret its cause.” 


256 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


As soon as Miss Leslie had taken her leave, 
Mrs. Stapleton went to her husband to inform him 
of the state of alfaifs. She returned in about a 
quarter of an hour, saying that, if not disagreeable 
to me, Mr. Stapleton would like to have a little 
conversation with me previous to setting out on 
his mission to the Vicarage, he having most kindly 
consented to be the bearer of my final message to 
Mr. Chesterfield. Mrs. Stapleton accompanied me 
to the study, where we found Mr. Stapleton, from 
whom I received on this, as on every other occa- 
sion, paternal kindness and counsel. He seemed 
quite to approve of the way in which I had acted, 
and concluded by commending the case to God in 
prayer, earnestly beseeching him to make what' 
had occurred a channel of spiritual blessing to all 
parties concerned, not forgetting you, my beloved 
parents. Refreshed and strengthened by this sweet 
and solemn committal of my concerns into the 
hands of the Father of mercies, I was enabled to 
await Mr. Stapleton’s return from the Vicarage 
with tolerable composure. He was absent much 
longer than my impatience had anticipated, and I 
was really becoming anxious, when I espied him 
slowly wending his way homewards through a dis- 
tant avenue. Mrs. Stapleton went to meet him, 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


257 


promising, at my request, to bring me an account 
of the issue of his embassy. She also appeared to 
my now excited feelings slow to return, and alter- 
nately I paced my room agitated by undefined sen- 
sations of disquietude, or sought relief in the endea- 
vour anew to realize the promise annexed to that 
gracious invitation, “ Cast thy burden on the Lord, 
, and he shall sustain thee.” At length Mrs. Staple- 

# V 

ton returned; taking my hand, she led me to a seal, 
saying, “ I trust, my love, you have every reason 
to feel satisfied with the result of what has trans- 
pired. Mr. Chesterfield is deeply pained at the un- 
alterable nature of your decision, at the same time 
that he entirely acquits you of having intentionally 
given him any encouragement.” 

“ Intentionally ! but surely he cannot think that 
I gave him any encouragement at all.” 

“ I am sure,” replied Mrs. Stapleton, “you are 
clear in his mind of every imputation of the sort ; 
but then we must make allowances for the prevail- 
ing bias of Mr. Chesterfield’s character, which is 
self-love, and which blinds him to the possibility of 
failing to win the love of others; for it is quite 
certain, in this case, that although you had given 
him no reason to expect an opposite treatment, yet 
. 22 * 


258 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


the very last thing he expected at your hands was 
a refusal.” 

“ But how extraordinary ! — to be persuaded of 
that for which there are no grounds of belief. Can 
you account for it?” 

“The truth is, my dear, I believe he gave you 
credit for more worldly wisdom than you reall}'’ 
possess, and supposed it impossible that any judi- 
cious young person could be so insensible to her 
own interest as to reject an alliance with which so 
many advantages were connected.” 

“And would Mr. Chesterfield be satisfied with 
an acceptance of his proposals founded upon such 
motives?” 

“ Probably it might be less mortifying to him 
than a refusal, since he cannot but infer that the 
objections must be very strong which could coun- 
terbalance so much that is desirable and advan- 
tageous. We must recollect also that we are all 
apt to judge of others by ourselves, consequently 
he would expect that the things which are of value 
in his estimation, would not be wholly without 
weight in yours; and one cannot be intimately 
acquainted with Mr. Chesterfield without perceiv- 
ing that he does attach an importance to a variety 
of objects of which you have learned the insigni- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


259 

ficance. How manifest, then, is it that this dissi- 
milarity of judgment renders you unsuited to each 
other, and that, as companions for life, a greater 
or less degree of unhappiness must have been the 
result of your union.” 

Yes, my beloved mother, I feel assured that 
you will coincide with this concluding remark of 
Mrs. Stapleton’s, and bless God that your child has 
not been permitted to yield to the temptation of 
purchasing affluence and outward ease at the ex- 
pense of freedom of mind and peace of conscience. 

I must just add, that Mr. Chesterfield leaves this 
neighbourhood for London, by the express train, 
this afternoon; so that there is no fear of our 
meeting again — perhaps we shall meet no more in 
this world — solemn thought ! May the Lord “ unite 
our hearts to fear his name,” and devote ourselves 
to his service. 

Write, dearest mamma, as soon as possible, to 
Your ever affectionate 

Ellen. 

Oakwood, Sept. lOtli. 

After the excitement produced by the stirring 
events of the last few weeks, it is not, as you 
observe, surprising that my spirits should suffer 


2(50 ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 

a reaction, and subside into that kind of listless 
quietude which might, if indulged, sink down into 
depression. How commonly does this state succeed 
to some strong mental effort, as if the mind, fa- 
tigued and powerless, fell prostrate beneath 'the 
force of its own exertions. You know that I am 
not disposed either to melancholy or sentimental- 
ism ; but such is my present state of feeling, that it 
requires all the energy I can summon to prevent its 
gaining the ascendency over me. Since you, my 
beloved mother, became acquainted with trial and 
sorrow, your sensitive mind has often suffered in 
the same way; and, therefore, in disclosing to you 
the secrets of my own bosom, I have the sweet 
assurance of receiving both counsel and sympathy. 
Neither is it possible for any one to be more favour- 
ably situated for regaining mental and spiritual 
vigour than I am here ; it is in every respect an 
atmosphere of the most healthy kind ; and I am 
hourly experiencing its beneficial influence in re- 
storing me to my wonted cheerfulness and serenity. 
The trial to which I have been lately exposed was 
peculiarly insidious ; and now, that it is over, I am 
much more aware of its real character than I was 
at the time of successfully combating with it. I 
fear you will be both surprised and pained at the 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


.261 

tone of this letter. When I commenced it, I had 
no intention of saying anything to you concerning 
the immediate cause of my present harassed state 
of mind; but finding I have been insensibly led bn 
to reveal so much of what is working within, it is 
incumbent on me to explain the whole, as your 
anxiety on my account will be relieved even in 
learning how deeply 1 need your pity. The en- 
closed letter, from my Aunt Harley, will unfold the 
secret of my distress; and before you proceed 
farther 1 must ask you to peruse its contents. 

Mrs.,Harley to Miss Seymour. 

My dear Ellen, 

A rumour has reached me, and from the quarter 
whence it comes I feel assured of its authenticity, 
that you have actually refused to accept an offer 
of marriage from Mr. Chesterfield. I cannot trust 
my thoughts, much less my pen upon this subject! 
What unaccountable folly and perverseness on 
your part I Do you know what you have done ? — 
refused a man of worth and talents, of good con- 
nections, and high standing in the Church, with a 
present income of £2000 a-year, and expectations 
of more I And all this rejected by a penniless girl 
— a bankrupt’s daughter I A governess — dependant 


2G2 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


for the bread she eats upon the caprice of her em- 
ployers! And then the reason you assign — that 
most senseless and provoking of all others — that 
you could not give him your heart. And to whom 
then, may I ask, could you give your heart? for 
you cannot in this instance plead dissimilarity of 
sentiment on the peculiar religious views you have 
lately adopted, as Mr. Chesterfield is, I understand, 
quite one of your evangelical preachers, and per- 
haps the most popular among them. Besides, if 
your profession of superior piety were really sin- 
cere, I should think you would have gladly em- 
braced the opportunity of improving the condition 
of your poor disconsolate parents, even at the cost 
of some slight sacrifice of your own feelings. But 
no; — consideration for relatives, especially for 
parents, forms no part of the creed of modern, 
religious young ladies ; they can talk about self- 
denial and self-renunciation, but when it comes to 
the practice of these virtues, none are so selfish and 
unfeeling as they. But what is still more unac- 
countable and provoking than your perverseness is 
that, as I am informed, your parents do not view 
your conduct in the light it deserves, but are rather 
inclined to palliate and excuse it. Ah I they were 
always too indulgent ; and no doubt their aflTection 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


2G3 


blinds them to the real heartlessness which prompt- 
ed you to act as you have. I consider it, however, 
my duty to tell you, that both your uncle and my- 
self are so displeased at the way in which you 
have acted in this affair, that whereas it had been 
our intention to consider your interests beyond that 
of any of our nephews and nieces, you must not 
now be surprised if we do not bequeath any part 
of our property to one who evidently knows so ill 
how to value it. And the same with regard to 
your parents — Mr. Harley has been indefatigable 
in exerting himself to procure some eligible ap- 
pointment for your father, and no doubt would 
have succeeded ; but now he will be at no farther 
trouble about it, seeing that advantages of a pecu- 
niary kind are so little appreciated — thus my poor 
brother is a double loser by your infatuation. And 
here, one less lenient than myself would close all 
communication with you on this painful subject; 
but I am not of this relentless character, and there- 
fore suggest that even now it may not be too late 
to repair the error you have committed. I am 
confidently assured by unquestionable authority, 
that such is the strength of Mr. Chesterfield’s 
attachment, that it is unimpaired even by your 
absurd and capricious treatment; and that .he is 


264 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


ready, at the slightest intimation, to come forward 
again, and place himself and his fortune at your 
disposal. The means of reparation are, therefore, 
still in your power — assure me that you are willing 
to avail yourself of them. One word is sufficient 
to obliterate the past — to restore you to the good 
opinion of your relatives — to ensure the happiness 
of your parents — to reward the faithful love of one 
who adores you, and to secure to yourself that 
position in society to which by birth yon are enti- 
tled. Weigh well the consequences of your de- 
cision ; meanwhile, once more I subscribe myself 
Your affectionate aunt, 

Arabella Harley. 

P. S. All your relations here agree with us in 
condemning your conduct, and your cousin Mrs. 
Marchmont, who has it in her power so materially 
to assist your parents, says she shall now have 
nothing more to do with them. 

Oh ! mamma, can you wonder that my spirits 
are crushed beneath the weight of this new and 
cruel stroke? I read the letter again and again 
before I could believe that it was really penned by 
my aunt Harley — she whose idol I used to be. For 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER, 


2G5 

though I well knew' the imperiousness of her tem- 
per, and the w’orldliness of her mind, T never be- 
fore thought her capable of deliberate tyranny and 
injustice. However, my desire and prayer isjhat 
I may be enabled by grace to look beyond all hu- 
man agents, to Him in whose hands they are but 
as instruments to fulfil his all-wise appointments. 
Doubtless, He saw' that I needed this trial, and to 
his righteous chastisement I would without a mur- 
mur resign myself, as says the Psalmist, ‘ I was 
dumb because thou didst it.’ I think I can discern 
one reason why this particular kind of trial has 
been sent upon me; — I have been so caressed and 
commended by all my kind friends here on this 
very point on which I am censured by my aunt, 
that probably the Lord saw I w'as in danger of 
being puffed up with pride, and imagining myself 
to be something when I am nothing, and therefore 
in love to my soul He sent this sharp rebuke to 
reveal to me the hidden evils of my heart. And 
one thing I have already discovered, which is — 
how dear an idol of mine has been my good name 
and reputation — dearer than thousands of gold and 
silver; and while I retained this, the loss of wealth 
was comparatively easy to be borne. But now my 
heavenly Father is showing me, that I must at his 
23 


266 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR. 


command be willing to part with this treasure also ; 
and be content to endure the reproaches and accu- 
sations of those by whom I was once esteemed 
almost faultless. I am now made sensible that 
throughout the whole of our late misfortunes, the 
preservation of a character untarnished even by 
the breath of suspicion, has been with me too ex- 
clusively an object of solicitude, and a theme of 
self-congratulation, and therefore it was necessary 
I should learn the perishing nature of this as well 
as every other earthly possession. Perhaps some 
would think that I view this matter in too strong 
a light, and that after all no actual wickedness 
being imputed to me, I need not distress myself 
about it. But independently of the pecuniary 
penalties with which we are threatened, and which 
on your account I deeply deplore, you who know 
how strongly cemented has hitherto been our 
family union, and how I have been bound up in the 
affections, not only of our own immediate domestic 
circle, but of the wider sphere of our numerous 
relationships; you, I say, will not wonder that I 
acutely feel the rending asunder of those ties of 
which before I knew not the brittleness. You 
might also, perhaps, be led to imagine that regret 
for the past is mingling with present sources of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


267 


uneasiness, and causing my resolution to waver; 
but oh ! mamma, banish such a thought for ever, if 
it has for a moment found entrance into your mind : 
— on that point I am not only unmoved, but more 
and more unmoveably confirmed. 

1 hope you will approve of the letter I have sent 
to my aunt, though I fear she is not in a state of 
mind to listen to the appeals of truth or justice. 
Her prejudices against evangelical religion are 
strong, and ever since I have by grace seen the 
importan' e of divine things, a marked change has 
taken place in her manner of w'riting, and once or 
twice she has expressed herself in no measured 
terms, on what she calls the presumption of young 
persons in supposing they know more on these 
subjects than their elders. 

Farewell, my beloved mother; I fear this letter 
will have the effect of transferring to you a portion 
of my desponding feelings, but it is a relief to the 
full heart to pour itself out into a kindred bosom, 
and I have, perhaps selfishly, availed myself of the 
privilege you so tenderly and constantly invite me 
to use. 

Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Sevmour. 


268 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


Oakwood, Sept. 20th. 

. . . . “ How .difficult to believe when all 

things seem to be against us, that they are still 
working together for our good,” observed I to 
Salome Stapleton, as in our afternoon reading, we 
concluded the eighth of Romans. Salome smiled, 
but made no answer. 

“ And what then is so much against you. Miss 
Seymour?” said Mr. Stapleton, who unperceived 
by me had entered the room, as this sentence fell 
from my lips. 

“ I believe I was still thinking of my aunt Har- 
ley’s letter,” replied I ; — “ I know it is very foolish 
to allow a thing of this kind to take such possession 
of my mind, but at times it returns with a power 
which no effort of mine can entirely overcome.” 

“ I am not one of those who would make light 
of the trial by way of relieving its pressure,” re- 
plied Mr. Stapleton ; “ trials should be estimated, 
not by their real importance, but by the degree 'of 
heaviness with which they weigh upon the one who 
has to bear them ; and we can afford to allow the 
burden its full weight, if only we forget not Him 
who has said, ‘ My grace is sufficient for thee, for 
my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ ” (2 

Cor. xii. 9.) 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


269 


“ This incident, painful as it i.s, has at least been 
profitable,” said J, “ in discovering to me the depth 
of unmortified pride which is still lurking in my 
heart, and of which I had before scarcely a suspi- 
cion.” 

“ Yes, my dear young friend, and it w’ill be pro- 
fitable to you in another way,” replied Mr. Staple- 
ton ; “ it will show you the failing nature of all 
creature resources, and lead you from these ‘ bro- 
ken cisterns,’ to seek more unreservedly the supply 
of all your need from the Fountain of living 
waters.” 

“ I thought I had already learned a little of this,” 
said I ; “ but I now find how shallow is my know- 
ledge of heavenly things, and still more how feeble 
is my ability to practise what I J^ow.” 

“ We need ‘ line upon line, and precept upon 
precept,’ ” replied Mr. Stapleton ; “ and our mercy 
is, that we have a Teacher ever ready to instruct 
us, and whose mode of teaching is infallible, if only 
w^e yield ourselves implicitly to His guidance.” 

“ What should you say,” asked I, “ is the ordi- 
nary mode by which God teaches his children ?” 

“ By writing the sentence of death upon all that 
which naturally they most trust and delight in, — 
as when he first begins to draw us to himself, the 
23 * 


270 


ELLEi\ SEYMOUR ; OR, 


earliest operation of his Spirit is to discover to us 
our lost state by nature, that u'e are dead in tres- 
passes and sins — and thus out of death to bring 
forth life in our souls ; so the same principle runs 
through all his subsequent dealings, as says the 
Apostle, ‘ We had the sentence of death in our- 
selves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but 
in God which raiseth the dead.’ (2 Cor. i. 9.) The 
truth is, resurrection is God’s great principle. 
Man’s sin, through the craft of Satan, brought 
death into the world, but God makes all this ruin 
subservient to his own glory, for ‘ Jesus, through 
death, destroyed him that had the power of death ;’ 
and God by raising him from the dead, brings in a 
new condition of things, more wonderful' and glo- 
rious than if creation had continued as when it 
* 

came fresh from the hand of God, and sin had 
never disturbed the rest of Paradise. Now’ keep 
this thought in mind, that it is out of death that 
God brings life ; — that this is the principle upon 
which He acts from first to last, in the greatest 
events and the smallest, in his dealings with his 
children ; and how will this reconcile, nay even 
endear to us every cloud which darkens our hori- 
zon, since the pledge of sure and certain blessing 
will be seen in the cloud.” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


271 


Here Mr. Stapleton left the room. “ I see,” said 
I to Salome, “ where my mistake has lain ; I have 
too much regarded religion merely in reference to 
eternal salvation, as a thing done once for all, in- 
stead of considering it in respect of its practical 
bearing on this present life, and the discipline and 
correction which we receive from God as a wise 
and loving Father. And yet how dull of appre- 
hension I must be, since this is a theme of which 
not only the Scriptures are full, but on which also 
Mr. Stapleton and Mr. Leslie so love to dwell.” 

“ You know more about it, dear Ellen, perhaps, 
than you imagine,” said Salome ; “ but you are 
right in saying, that this is a theme on which papa 
loves to dwell. His, as I have before told you, has 
been a path of peculiar exercise of mind, or rather 
of heart. He knows what it is to have the sen- 
tence of death written upon his fondest hopes, and 
also what it is to be comforted of God in all his 
sorrows, so that he is able not only to sympathize 
with, but to comfort others, who are in trial or 
suffering of any kind.” * 

“ I am such a poor, weak one, what would be- 
come of me without such kind friends?” exclaimed 
I involuntarily. 

“ Ah, my beloved Ellen,” said she, tenderly em- 


272 


ELLEN SEYi\IOUR:-OR, 


bracing me, “ the benefit received is not all on 
your part, for what an unspeakable comfort are 
you to me ; what — what should I do without you !” 
and her lovely eyes filled with tears as she spoke. 

“ But you have so many kind friends, my pre- 
cious Salome, who are so far more able than my- 
self to minister comfort to you.” 

“ Ah ! but then I cannot talk to papa and mam- 
ma as I can to you ; I dare not tell them all I think 
and feel — all I anticipate — they feel every thing 
concerning me so acutely, dearest papa especially. 
With all his grace, I know that there is one 
thought of which, though continually present to his 
mind, he is as yet unable to bear the 'mention, or 
to breathe himself into any ear but that of his 
heavenly Father.” I knew that she alluded to her 
own departure to be with Christ, which seems to 
be constantly in her mind, and on which she 
habitually converses with me in the most cheerful 
and open manner. 

On this occasion, however, her looks and ac- 
cents were peculiarly ‘affecting, and feeling unable 
to reply I could only mingle my tears with hers. 

“ I know not how it is,” continued she, “ but I 
have such an impression that I shall not much 
longer enjoy the privilege of your society, that my 


i 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWEK. 


273 


heart clings to you in a way which I cannot ex- 
press ; 1 mean,” added she, perceiving by my 
countenance that I did not understand her — “ I 
mean, that you are not in the sphere in which the 
Lord intends you to remain.” 

“ And what, my dear Salome, can possibly be 
your reason for entertaining such a supposition?” 
inquired I, with some degree of alarm, for the 
thought of removal from this family seems really 
too painful for me to contemplate. 

“The late affair of Mr. Chesterfield,” replied 
she, “ appears to me an intimation that we are to 
hold you with a loose hand” — 

“ Oh !” said I, interrupting her laughingly, and 
really relieved from unpleasant misgivings, “ that 
storm has blown over, and we must not imagine 
that my tranquillity will soon be disturbed by such 
another.” 

But Salome looked grave, and said, “ I have 
often remarked, even in my own limited circle of 
observation, that the Lord, previously to sending 
upon us any particular trial, gives us some indica- 
tion of his purpose, as if gently to prepare our 
minds for its endurance.” 

My heart responded to this, for I have myself 
observed the same thing; but I felt sadly depressed 


274 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


at the possibility of separation which her words 
suggested. Salome perceived what was passing 
in my mind, and said sweetly, “Well, dearest, if it 
be so, it will be among the all things w^hich are 
working together -for your good — and mine also,” 
added she, with an apparent effort. “ But there is 
the bell for tea — kiss me once more ; it is impossi- 
ble,” exclaimed she faintly, “ but what some one 
else will be found to love and value you as I do.” 

There was an air of mystery, so foreign to her 
usual manner, in the latter part of the foregoing 
conversation, that it hung as a weight upon my 
spirits, which I found it difficult to shake off. But 
I will not trouble you with more about my indi- 
vidual concerns, which have been of late by far 
too exclusively the subject of my pen. 

I had almost forgotten to tell you, so absorbing 
a topic is self, that Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont came 
here on Friday last to take away Clara and Aga- 
tha, for whom Mrs. Stapleton has succeeded in pro- 
curing a most desirable governess. I did not see 
much of Mr.' Beaumont, as he spent the whole 
'"morning in close conference with Mr. Stapleton; 
but with Mrs. Beaumont I had a long and pleasing 
conversation. She appears to be in a calm and 
happy frame of mind, full of thankfulness to God 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWEB. 


275 

for opening the eyes of her husband to the deceit- 
fulness of the error in which he was entangled, for 
she does not seem to doubt that he is really spiritu- 
ally awakened. Indeed, it is almost impossible to 
doubt it, and there is something even in his very 
look which betokens a ‘heart which God has 
touched.’ Mr. Stapleton is greatly encouraged 
respecting him, and considers his present frame of 
mind — that of self-distrust, and desire for instruc- 
tion — to be one of the most favourable tokens of a 
divinely-wrought change, being so directly oppo- 
site to the natural loftiness of his temperament, as 
well as to his assumption of ecclesiastical autho- 
rity. It is no less remarkable to see the change 
which grace has effected in Mr. Beaumont’s man- 
ner towards his children — so tender and affec- 
tionate; while they, poor little things, seem at a 
loss to comprehend the meaning of this, to them, 
almost sudden transition. 

I have always felt a warm interest in these dear 
children, both from the peculiar circumstances un- 
der which I first knew them, and from the natural 
attractiveness of their character — that thoughtful 
and sensitive cast, which so engages one’s sympa- 
thies, because of the very sorrow which it almost 
inevitably entails upon its possessor. Their educa- 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


276 

tion under Miss Delamotte helped much to foster 
the particular tendencies of their disposition ; and 
the injurious effects of imaginative religion — the 
Keble school, as it may be termed — upon the 
minds of the young is only too evidently appa- 
rent in them, notwithstanding the subsequent ef- 
forts used to counteract its inffuence. You would 
scarcely believe at their early age how deeply 
their minds are tinctured with the distinguishing 
errors of the system in which they have been 
trained, or how strong are their prejudices against 
the simple truth of the Gospel. For instance, to 
weaken their hold of that fundamental error — bap- 
tismal regeneration — which they have been taught 
to grasp with so firm a hand, seems to need a power 
more than human ; and not all their love and reve- 
rence for their uncle has hitherto availed to con- 
vince them that he does not hold heretical and 
dangerous doctrines. Mr. Stapleton often says that 
he anticipates trial arising to Mr. Beaumont from 
his children, whom he has so assiduously laboured 
to imbue with the errors of Tractarianism, particu- 
larly his son, who, we hear, is furious at his father’s 
change of sentiment. Their affection for me is 
very pleasing. “ Oh ! Miss Seymour, if you were 
only going to live with us, how happy we should 

I 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


277 


be !” exclaimed they both, as again and again they 
returned to give the parting embrace. Mrs. Beau- 
mont gave me a pressing invitation to the Rectory, 
which her husband seconded with a warmth and 
earnestness, which showed how complete the revo- 
lution of mind which in a few months had been 
effected. 

Yours, ever affectionatel}*, 

• • Ellen Seymour. 

We must now once more take the pen out of 
Ellen’s hand, and hasten to bring this little narra- 
tive to a conclusion. We have followed her step 
by step through a brief, but trying and important 
period of her earthly pilgrimage ; we have seen the 
progressive development of her mind in its recep- 
tion of difterent elementary portions of Divine 
truth ; we have witnessed the practical effect of 
these in enabling her to resist temptation of a pe- 
culiarly alluring nature ; and also to stand fast 
against the reproaches and remonstrances of re- 
vered relatives, even at the hazard of completing 
the wreck of all her earthly prospects. If we were 
asked what was the distinguishing feature of El- 
len’s character, we should, say it was — simplicity. 
By nature open, artless and sincere, by grace it 
24 


278 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


might be said of her as one of old, that she was 
‘ without guile/ Her simple endeavour was to 
please God, and to act conformably to the uner- 
ring rule of right and wrong laid down in the 
Scriptures, without reference to the applause or 
the censure of her fellow-mortals. And this not 
from pride or insensibility, for we have seen how 
acutely her heart could feel unkindness in every 
form, but from that simplicity of character, which 
will not at any cost allow itself to be turned aside 
from the purpose, which it has deliberately judged 
to be worthy of attainment. Little did the inge- 
nuous mind of Ellen suspect, that there was one 
whose eye had long watched her every action, and 
sought to penetrate her every thought and feeling 
with an intensity of interest beyond that of all the 
world beside. This one was — Mr. Leslie. At first, 
in common with others, he had been fascinated by 
the loveliness of her person, the sweetness of her 
manners, and the elegance of her accomplishments; 
on more intimate acquaintance he was impressed 
with the solidity of her mind, the generosity of her 
sentiments, and the reality of her religion. She 
seemed to possess a large share of those qualities 
not only which command admiration, but which 
win affection and ensure esteem. Mr. Leslie’s 


THE nUD AND THE’ FLOWER. 


279 


mind was of an order to appreciate the value of 
such a combination; but while he felt the full force 
of the attraction which had been thus unexpectedly 
presented to him, he was no less strongly alive to 
the importance of the result to which it might lead, 
and he therefore determined to control his feelings, 
and to remain a passive and unnoticed observer of 
the object in whom he felt such deep interest. But 
the more narrowly he watched the every action of 
Ellen, and the more closely he sought to penetrate 
the motives from whence they sprung, the more 
he was convinced that she was, indeed, the simple 
and genuine character which she appeared; and 
with this conviction of the judgment, flowed in a 
tide of affection upon the heart, which he was no 
longer either able or desirous to repress. 

Matters had just reached this critical juncture, 
and Ellen was still unconscious of the power she 
possessed over the destinies of one, whom she sim- 
ply regarded as a model of all that was admirable 
and excellent both as a man and a Christian, when 
Mr. Chesterfield’s arrival, and immediately visible, 
attentions, changed the face of affairs. To Mr. 
Leslie he confided the secret of his love, and his de- 
termination to press his suit to a conclusion ; — his 
confidence was not misplaced, this generous friend 






230 ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR. 

invited him to his house, and afforded him every 
facility in the pursuit of his purpose, with what 
success we have already seen. Having for the bet- 
ter information of our readers briefly glanced at 
these facts, we will again commit the history of 
her thoughts and feelings to Ellen’s own recital, by 
giving a few' short extracts from her concluding 
letters. 


Oakwood, Oct. 8lh. 

. . . . How full of wisdom and loving kind- 

ness are all the appointments of God, as well in the 
dealings of His providence, as in the dispensations 
of His grace ! I am led at the present moment to 
this reflection by taking a retrospect of the events 
connected with the last two years of my life. Each 
returning season brings with .it its distinct and 
peculiar recollections, and “ the sere and yellow 
leaf” of this recalls to my mind the autumn of two 
years ago, when the first intimations of impending 
ruin began to cloud our sky. How unprepared was 
my mind then, except by the moral culture you had 
so perseveringly bestowed upon it, to meet so un- 
expected and total a reverse of earthly prospects! 
Yet the Lord, whom I knew not, graciously sus- 
tained my soul in that overwhelming crisis, and 




A* 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


281 


kept me from open murmuring against His will, 
though He alone knew the secret rebellion of my 
heart, ignorant of the message of mercy which 
His chastisement conveyed. Judging according 
to the short-sightedness of human reason, what a 
climax of misfortune was our separation ! What 
a cruel necessity did it appear ! How gladly would 
we have accepted almost any alternative! Even 
now I cannot recur to the final scene — your part- 
ing embrace — and last — last look, without feelings 
of pain indescribable. And yet by grace I would 
not have it otherwise — it was a needful link in the 
chain wrought by the hand of everlasting love. 
What sweet rest to the soul is there in viewing 
every event in this way — as a part of that vast and 
perfect plan, the whole orwhich we shall one day 
see and comprehend. To believe this is peace and 
joy unutterable, cheaply purchased at the expense 
of a little present comfort and happiness. 

I cannot enumerate all the ways in which our 
change of circumstances has been profitable to me, 
but among minor blessings, connected with it, I 
may mention as not the least, that it provides such 
continual healthful employment both for mind and 
body. In our days of prosperity, it is true, I never 
knew what it was to have time hanging heavily on 
24 * 


282 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


my hands, but then occupation was not of necessity 
but choice, and to a superficial observer it might 
seem a grievous addition to the trials of poverty, 
to be compelled to labour for one’s subsistence. 
But how erroneous a conclusion, for surely it was 
in tenderest mercy, as Mr. Leslie observed last 
Sunday, that the Lord annexed the condition of 
perpetual toil to the sentence which excommuni- 
cated fallen man from his earthly paradise. And 
certainly I have proved it so in my own case, for 
scarcely do I feel I could have borne the doom of 
exile from our sweet and happy home, had it not 
been for the new and multifarious employments 
arising as a consequence out of it. I have been the 
more sensible of this lately, since, as you know, 
my mind has suffered from an unusual tendency to 
listlessness and depression, and I have found in the 
necessity of exertion, the most effectual remedy for 
this species of mental indisposition. I wish you 
would read what I have written to poor Mary 
Parker, who, from what you say, is, I should fear, 
an unresisting victim to this malady. Deeply as I 
sympathize with her in the loss of her sister, I can- 
not but deplore that she should indulge her grief to 
the neglect of other relative duties, and thankful 
should I be to hear that the pressing demands of 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


283 


these had succeeded in arousing her energies to 
vigorous and useful exertion. 

How little the generality of young people under- 
stand the real value of time, that it is in fact, in a 
temporal point of view — wealth ; and that to waste 
it is the worst kind of extravagance. And then 
how unspeakably precious as estimated in relation 
to eternity, for “ Now is the accepted time, now is 
the day of salvation,” (2 Cor. vi. 2,) which, though 
it embraces the whole period of the gospel dispen- 
sation, yet, as regards each individual, can extend 
no farther than the space of a brief existence — 
how brief which of us can say, for what is our life 
but a vapour? 

I believe you knew that Mr. Leslie contemplated 
a visit to town some time during the autumn, and 
that he purposed making your acquaintance. You 
will now probably see him very shortly, as the 
business on which he is going thither requires his 
immediate attendance. ' He has had many conver- 
sations with me respecting you and dearest papa, 
and seems so interested in all your concerns, and 
so prepared to find you all I have described, that I 
really know not a sweeter pleasure than conversing 
with him on this theme, the nearest and dearest to 
my heart that earth affords. May the Lord bless 


284 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


your mutual intercourse; but, oh! how I do feel 
templed to envy every one that has the privilege 
of conversing with you ; — what words can express 
the intensity of my desire to hear once again that 
sweetest of all terrestrial music — a mother’s voice I 
Ever yours, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakwood, Oct. 27 III. 

Never before, my beloved mother, did 1 take up 
my pen to reply to one of your dear letters with 
such mingled emotions as on the present occasion. 
Gratitude to God, a deep sense of my own unwor- 
thiness, and the calm and happy consciousness of 
possessing the affection of one not only most con- 
genial to my natural tastes, but also in every re- 
spect suited to promote my best interests, both for 
lime and eternity — such is the mixed, yet delight- 
ful state of my feelings at this moment. At times 
the whole appears to me as a dream, and I ask" 
myself, is it possible that I really am the object of 
Mr. Leslie’s choice — the one whom he prefers 
above all others'? And yet it w'ould be affectation 
and insincerity to say that such a thought had 
never crossed my mind, as ever since the conclu- 
sion of Mr. Chesterfield’s affair, and more especi- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


285 


ally just before leaving for London, there has been 
an indescribable somethivg in Mr, Leslie’s manner, 
which, without any effort on my part to attach to 
it a particular meaning, could not but reach the 
heart to which it was addressed. I am so thankful 
'that his sudden departure for town prevented his 
discovering more of his feelings to me, so that my 
beloved mother was thus the first depository of a 
secret so consonant to all she could desire for the 
happiness of her child. Of all my friends in this 
place, Miss Leslie was the only one really ac- 
•quainted with her brother’s feelings, and nothing 
can exceed her kind and generous satisfaction at 
the probable result; were I laden with wealth and 
honours she could not possibly bestow upon me a 
more cordial and affectionate welcome. From the 
dear circle under this roof, with whom, it seems, 
it had for some time past been a matter of some- 
thing more than mere conjecture, I have also re- 
ceived the warmest expressions of congratulation. 
In the midst of all this unexpected promise of 
earthly felicity, surely I have to watch and pray 
lest my deceitful heart should again be ensnared 
by the things of lime and sense, from the dominion 
of which it has been, in some small degree, eman- 
cipated. Expressing something of this kind to Mrs. 


286 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


Stapleton, she said, “Ah! my love, you will find 
that the new sphere of life upon which you are 
entering will supply you with abundant occasion 
for learning more perfectly than you have ever yet 
known it, the vanity of all temporal things, and the 
insufficiency of the most favourable earthly condi- 
tion to produce true and lasting satisfaction. You 
will find, as in adversity so in prosperity, that un- 
less the soul’s spring of peace and joy lie deeper 
than the surface of external circumstances, there 
will be no more real and abiding happiness in the 
one condition than the other. And while I admit 
that few have more reasonable ground for pleasing 
anticipations of the future than yourself, still they 
are of a nature rather to lead you to than from 
God, your choice having been so mercifully di- 
rected to one so fitted to be the guide and counsel- 
lor of your youth, and the tender and sympathizing 
partaker of all your joys and sorrows. Besides, 
we must not suppose that it is always necessary 
for us to be driven by the storms of adversity in 
order that our souls may cast anchor within the 
vail — fair gales may waft the vessel into her de- 
sired haven as effectually as fierce and raging 
tempests ; and, looking upon his Church under the 
similitude of a garden, we know that the Lord calls 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


287 

upon the south wind equally with the north to blow 
upon it, that the spices thereof may flow out.” 
Cant. iv. 16 . 

My heart is too full to write much more at pre- 
sent — ^joy like grief may be too deep for utterance ; 
but you have chords within which will respond to 
the feelings my pen refuses to express. 

Yours as ever, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakivood, JVov. 2Qt/i. 

Taking to-day our usual noontide walk, and 
talking over our future plans, in which are always 
comprehended various designs both temporal and 
spiritual for the benefit of our own immediate ' 
neighbourhood, as well as of wider spheres of 
benevolence — we had dwelt long upon these topics, 
and the conversation was insensibly assuming a 
more domestic tone, and many a pleasing scheme 
conducive to my comfort and enjoyment had been 
projected and discussed, when Mr. Leslie suddenly 
became thoughtful and abstracted, and a pause of 
some duration ensued. “ You know, my Ellen,” 
said he at length, “ exactly what my circumstances 
are, that I am only a younger son, consequently, 
that my patrimony is not large, and that this living 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


288 

is far from considerable,” — I waited in breathless 
expectation, I may almost say anxiety, for the 
sequel of this preamble : — he continued, “ You 
know, also, that one of my fondest wishes is to 
procure you the fulfilment of every reasonable de- 
sire, and I believe you would never indulge any 
that was not reasonable, — well then, I have two 
thousand pounds, which was left to me by a distant 
relative, and which is over and above what we both 
should, I am sure, feel to be absolutely necessary 
for our comfortable maintenance; this sum, then, 
dearest, I desire to place at your disposal, to be ap- 
propriated entirely to your private use.” 

“Oh! no, indeed, I can’t” — I began, but he 
gently interrupted me, “ Hear me to the end, before 
you refuse to grant me this favour — this sum I had 
in my own mind set apart, to be used in procuring 
you those little elegancies and conveniences to 
which you have been accustomed— but if there is 
any purpose to which you would prefer devoting it 
— it is yours to do with exactly as your choice 
directs.” 

At these words one thought filled my mind — it 
was my father — for, oh 1 mamma, you know this is 
the exact sum required to discharge his remaining 
debt to the creditors. The tears started into my 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


289 

eyes, and I strove in vain for utterance, for how 
could I mention this to Mr. Leslie ? It seemed 
impossible that he could really mean what his 
language seemed to imply ; and yet, was he less 
generous, less self-denying than myself? This 
reflection restored to me the power of articulation 
and — “My father,” involuntarily fell from my lips. 
“ Say no more, my beloved Ellen,” said Mr. Leslie 
earnestly, “ this is all I wished to hear — the confir- 
mation from your own lips of the unison of our 
hearts upon this subject. But have you really 
counted the cost?” continued he gravely; “Are 
you really prepared to forego the luxuries which 
this sum would procure ? For instance, can you 
be contented, perhaps for years, with no better 
equipage than a pony chaise, and with no costlier 
furniture than my humble parsonage at present 
aflbrds ?” 

I felt pained at his speaking thus, and was about 
to assure him of my entire indifference to things of 
this kind, when he stopped me by saying, “But I 
wrong you by proposing such questions; forgive 
me for having even suggested the thought, that you 
could for a moment hesitate between relieving a 
parent’s mind of an oppressive burden, or procuring 
a few more of the delights and indulgences of this 
25 . 


290 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


perishing world.” Fearing lest he should act on 
the impulse of the moment in a way which he 
might afterwards regret, I said, “ But will you not 
by this one deed of munificence be greatly re- 
stricted in your power of meeting other claims 
upon your liberality ?” 

He replied, “ Setting aside what I have before 
told you, that this sum I had appropriated entirely 
to your own private use, I feel assured that the 
purpose to which we both desire to devote it is one 
sanctioned by every principle both moral and di- 
vine. In the first place, it is for the discharge of 
a just debt, for though by the law of the land 
released from all farther claims, your dear father 
feels that whatever remains unpaid is in justice a 
debt, which nothing but payment to the uttermost 
farthing can ever cancel. On this point we are all 
of one mind, and to fulfil the Scripture precept, 
‘ owe no man anything,’ I know my dearest Ellen 
would willingly have undergone any toil, endured 
any privation, or devoted any property that might 
have devolved to her — why then should I not be 
allowed the privilege of aiding her in this work of 
filial duty and Christian obligation? And with 
regard to your own happiness, in which mine is 
bound up, how can I more effectually seek to 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


291 


secure it, than by relieving your mind of anxiety 
respecting your parents, on that particular point on 
which both they and you most sorely feel its pres- 
sure 

You may be sure I had no arguments to oppose 
to sentiments so congenial to my own, and had 
only to give full scope to the enjoyment of those 
exquisitely blissful emotions, which arise on the 
discovery of a kindred spirit in paths where hereto- 
fore we had walked silent and alone. 

And now, my beloved mother, what more have 
we to w'ish? surely “our cup runneth over.” I 
can scarcely believe — and so many blessings have 
attended it, that a sensation of pain even mingles 
with the thought — that our correspondence from 
this dear place is so soon to close. But then to be 
once more folded in your arms — to see you — to 
hear you speak ! I cannot trust myself to express 
what I feel at the anticipation — and yet it is not 
the wild ecstasy I should have felt on such an 
occasion a few years since, but restrained and 
chastened by a sense of the fading, unsatisfying 
nature of all earthly joy. Our kind friends here 
have planned the necessary future arrangements, 
and only wait your approval and acquiescence. 
The plan is for Mr. Stapleton to escort me to town. 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


202 

where I am to spend a fortnight with you — you 
and dearest papa are then to return to Oakwood 
with me, as Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton insist that the 
marriage of their “ eldest daughter,” as they kindly 
designate me, shall take place nowhere else but 
from under their roof, and the first of the ensuing, 
year is named for the solemnization of this most 
deeply important event of my life. . Such are the 
plans proposed — “ If the Lord will,” — to Him we 
look to confirm and bless them. Probably I shall 
write but once more before we meet. 

- . Your affectionate child, 

Ellen Seymour. 

Oakv'ood, Dec. 4th. 

. . . . You say that dearest papa is unalter- 

able in his resolution not to accept the money on 
any other condition than that of a loan, to be re- 
paid if ever the Lord again vouchsafes to entrust 
him with the requisite means. We could have 
wished him to receive it free of all stipulation, but 
we submit our wishes to his, and acquiesce in the 
decision he has so strongly expressed. I must tell 
you that I have received a kind letter, containing 
a handsome present, from my aunt Harley. She 
is full of congratulations on the subject of my en- 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


293 


gagement to Mr. Leslie, and seems entirely to 
have forgotten the offence I lately so unintention- 
ally gave her. Such is the world ! its friendship 
and enmity, applause and censure varying with 
every turn of Fortune’s fickle wheel ; or, as the 
Scripture more truly expresses it, “ the poor is 
hated even of his own neighbour,” and “ men will 
praise thee when thou doest well to thyself.” — 
And is this really my last letter before we meet ! — 
Is it possible that it will only precede me a few 
hours, and that its arrival will be as the harbinger 
of my own ! And then to think we meet not as 
we parted in the darkness of nature’s ignorance 
and unbelief, and the bitter anguish of unsanctified 
sorrow, but, as we humbly trust, enlightened by 
the Spirit of God to know the things which belong 
to our peace ; and. as if this were not enough, laden 
with temporal mercies, and filled with gladness of 
heart. 

Yesterday evening, as we were alt sitting around 
the fire in Salome’s room, my future prospects be- 
came as usual the theme of conversation. 

“ Oh ! mamma,” cried Rosa, “ won’t it be de- 
lightful to have our darling Ellen always living 
near us ! You will let me come and help you put 
your things in order, and tie up the flowers, and 
25 * 


294 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


arrange your nosegays, &c.” — “ Oh ! yes, and me 
too,” interrupted Emily, “ for I know exactly where 
all the prettiest flowers grow at the vicarage, and 
I can tell you the names of all those different sorts 
of beautiful roses, which you used to say you 
thought were even finer than ours; — Oh! how I 
do wish next summer was come 1” exclaimed the 
animated child, her face glowing with bright anti- 
cipations of the future. 

“ Well, dearest Ellen,” said Salome, “ you must 
confess that the truth of my favourite hymn ‘ God 
moves in a mysterious way,’ has been verified in 
your own experience ; for, certainly, you are now 
beginning to prove the sweetness of the flower, of 
which you before tasted the bitterness of the bud.” 

“ Yes, you were right,” replied I, “ and I can 
only look back with shame and regret to the doubts 
and fears which I have so often allowed to take 
l^ossession of my mind, to the dishonour of God, 
and the destruction of my peace.” 

“We are so prone to forget,” said Mrs. Staple- 
ton, “ that we are now called ‘ to walk by faith 
and not by sight,’ and that it is our privilege to do 
so, for the character of this dispensation is, ‘Bless- 
ed are they who have not seen, and yet have be- 
lieved.’ ” 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


295 


“ And, therefpre, I must enter my protest,” said 
Mr. Stapleton, “ against judging of the Lord’s deal- 
ings at any time, or on any occasion, ‘by feeble 
sense,’ if we do so, we shall spend our lives in per- 
plexity and disappointment, instead of that quiet- 
ness and confidence which is the ‘ strength’ of the 
child of God.” 

“ But, papa,” asked Salome, “ would you say 
that there is never in temporal things to be a 
reaping, as well as a sowing time for the Lord’s 
people?’ 

“ By no means, my love, would I assert such an 
opinion ; on the contrary, were our spiritual senses 
y only more exercised than they are, I believe wc 
should discern countless mercies, temporal I mean, 
where we now perceive little else but causes of 
complaint and vexation. But then, what I desire 
to impress both on myself and others is, that it is 
not by the fitful light of providential dealings that 
we are to form our apprehension of the unchange- 
ableness of the character of God, any more than 
we are to conceive of the meridian splendour of a 
tropical sun by the cold and colourless beam which 
struggles through the misty atmosphere of our 
northern clime on a chill November morning. It 
is in the written word that I learn what God is, as 


296 


ELLEN SEYMOUR ; OR, 


the God of love, truth and grace, and having learn- 
ed this, I am then able to look abroad upon all the 
seeming confusion and contradiction of surround- 
ing circumstances with a steady eye and unmoved 
heart, because by faith I see the immutable God of 
the Bible sitting King upon the floods, and ruling 
all things after the counsel of His own will.” 

“ But,” said I, “ is not this to regard the attri- 
butes of God only in one point of view, and to re- 
solve all graces into the one of submission to His 
will, and should we not thus be in danger of losing 
sight of Him as ‘ the inspirer and hearer of prayer,’ 
and would it not have a tendency to check the 
freedom of our communion with Him as the Father 
of all our mercies, and the giver of every good 
gift, temporal as well as spiritual V* 

“ The Scriptures abound with encouragement 
for us to pour out our hearts to God for the supply 
of our temporal necessities ; — not to mention any 
other, that all comprehensive exhortation, (Phil, 
iv. 6,) ‘ Be careful for nothing ; but in every thing 
by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let 
your requests be made known unto God,’ is alone 
a sufficient warrant for us not to regard any 
matter as too insignificant for the ear of our 
heavenly Father, and the blessed result of this 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


297 


filial confidence will be that ‘ the peace of God 
which passeth all understanding, shall keep the 
heart and mind through Christ Jesus.’ Now this 
just expresses what appears to me to be the safest 
view we can take of this interesting subject, which 
comes so home to the bosom of every child of 
God; — it is possible that we might make a request, 
the direct object of which, the Lord might see fit 
to deny, but then He never can deny His peace — 
that peace which passeth all understanding — to the 
soul which commits to Him the management of all 
its concerns, from the greatest to the least. For 
instance,” continued Mr. Stapleton, “ you would 
not, my dear Ellen, have had less reason to believe 
that God is love, even had He withheld some of 
the temporal blessings, which in His rich mercy 
He has so plenteously showered upon you ?” 

“ Oh ! no,” exclaimed I, ” having given me His 
grace, whatever else He had withheld, I must have 
said, that He had dealt bountifully with me.” 

“ Exactly so ; and one of the sweetest proofs of 
this would have been in that He had bestowed 
upon you a spirit of thankfulness, which conduces 
more to happiness than thousands of gold and 
silver.” 

“ But you would feel perfect liberty in presenting 


298 


ELLEN SEYMOUR; OR, 


your temporal wants, whatever they might be, not 
only generally, but in any particular case before a 
throne of grace V’ said Mrs. Stapleton addressing 
her husband. 

“ Certainly, I should ; provided always with this 
limitation — ‘ if it be according to thy will,’ — never, 
never should we ask for any temporal mercy with- 
out this reservation, and with this we may freely 
make known our requests unto God.” 

A pause here ensued, which was at length bro- 
ken by Salome’s playfully drawing her father to- 
wards her, and whispering something in his ear. 
He smiled, and then said, “ Salome suggests, that 
the observations I have been making, are the more 
needful at this time, lest the sunny prospects of our 
young friend here (looking archly at me,) should 
have the effect of inducing an erroneous supposi- 
tion in juvenile minds, by leading them to imagine, 
that the possession of spiritual life is in any way 
necessarily connected with earthly ease and pros- 
perity. And if ever your history, my dear Ellen, 
should be written, she proposes that either in the 
preface, or the conclusion, some antidote should be 
provided against so false and dangerous a notion.” 

“ I know not in what light my biographer might 
be pleased to represent me,” replied I, “ but this I 


THE BUD AND THE FLOWER. 


299 


do know, that if a faithful picture were drawn of 
the state of my mind at this moment, nothing 
would be farther than such a delineation from 
conveying to the minds of others the impression 
you have just described. I acknowledge myself a 
debtor to grace alone for all my mercies both 
spiritual and temporal, and as regards the latter, 
had they been less bountifully dealt out, or^ even 
wholly withheld, I could still have witnessed to the 
truth of your favourite hymn, dear Salome, for 
though bitter may have been the Bud of providen- 
tial dispensations, yet sweet is the Flower of divine 
blessing, which has sprung out of them — sweet in 
the unfoldings of grace here, and sweeter still in 
its perfect expansion in glory hereafter.” 

Good night, my beloved mother; to-morrow’s 
eve will, I fondly trust, restore your long-absent 
Ellen to the home, and the embrace* of her parents. 


THE END. 




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A CATALOGUE 


OF 

VALUABLE AND IMPOBTANT WORKS, 

PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY 

J. W. MOORE, 

BOOKSELLER, PUBLISHER, AND IMPORTER, 
193 CHESTNUT STREET, OPPOSITE THE STATE-HOUSE, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


THE WORKS OF MICHAEL DE MONTAIGNE, comprising 
his Essays, Letters, a Journey through Germany and Italy; 
with notes from all the Commentators, Biographical and 
Bibliographical Notices, &c., &c., &c. By Wit-LrAM Hazlitt. 
1 vol. 8vo., pp. 686, cloth, $2 50 ; half calf and half morocco, 
$3 50. 

“ This is a truly valuable publication, and embodies much that may be 
read with profit.” — Inquirer. 

“ This work is too well known, and too highly appreciated by the literary 
world, to require eulogy . — North American. 

“ So long as an unaffected style and good nature shall charm — so long as 
the lovers of desultory and cheerful conversation shall be more numerous 
than those who prefer a lecture or a sermon — so long as reading is sought 
by the many as an amusement in idleness, or a resource in pain — so long 
will Montaigne be among the favourite authors of mankind.” — Hallam, 

BURTON’S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. What it is, 
with all the kinds, causes, symptoms, prognostics, and seve- 
ral cures of it. In three partitions: with their several sec- 
tions, members, and subsections, philosophically, medically, 
and historically opened and cut up. A new edition, cor- 
rected and enriched by translations of the numerous clas- 
sical extracts. To which is prefixed an account of the 
author. From the last London edition. 1 vol. 8vo., cloth, 
$2 50 ; half calf and half morocco, f 3 50. 

" The book is an inexhaustible fountain, where every mind, no matter 
what may be its peculiar organization, or the nature of its mornentary needs, 
can draw at will nourishment and strength ; such perfect mingling of im- 
mense erudition, profound thought, sparkling humour, and exuberant fancy, 
exists no where else out of Shakspeare .” — City Item. 


2 j. w. moore’s catalogue 

WEISS ON WATER CURE. The Hand Book of Hydro- 
pathy, for Professional and Domestic use : with an Appendix, 
on the best mode of forming Hydropathic establishments. 
Being the result of twelve years’ experience at Grafenberg 
and Freywaldau. By Dr. J. Weiss. 12mo., cloth, $1 00. 

“ The intention of the author in this work, is to render himself intelli- 
gible to the non-professional reader, so that the treatment by water may be 
safely introduced into domestic use, and exert its influence where meical 
assistance is not to be obtained.” — Messenger, 

BIBLIA HEBRAICA. Secundum Editiones. Jos. Athiae, 
Joannis Leusden, Jo. Simonis Aliorumque, inprimis Eve- 
rardi Van Der Hooght, D. Henrici Opitii, et Wolfii Heiden- 
heim, cum additionibus Clavique Masoretica et Rabbinica, 
August! Hahn. Nunc denuo recognita et emendata ab 
Isaaco Leeser, V. D. M., et Josepho Jaquett, V. D. M. The 
above is stereotyped from the last Leipsic edition, and beau- 
tifully half bound in the German style, thick 8vo., price re- 
duced to $2 25. 

” Its typography is beautiful, and it is justly admired by Hebrew scholars 
who have examined it. Its superior accuracy, it is believed, will be ac- 
knowledged, on a comparison with any Bible extant. One thing which 
gives elegance and excellence to the work, should be particularly noticed 
by all who desire a Bible that can be easily read, all the vowel points and 
accents are in their right places, which cannot be said of all former editions 
— and therefore the student can never be in doubt respecting the letters to 
which they belong .” — Christian Observer. 


THE FAMILY SHAKSPEARE, in one volume; in which 
nothing is added to the original text ; but those words and 
expressions are omitted which cannot with propriety be 
read aloud in a family. By Thomas Bowdler, Esq. From 
the sixth London edition, royal 8vo., cloth, $3. 

“The nature and object of this work are too well known to require ex- 
planation, and many a family wi’,1 feel obliged to Mr. Moore for furnishing 
an edition of the immortal dramatist; garbled, indeed, because expurgated — 
but in many respects less garbled than some of the separate plays as pre- 
pared for the stage — which can be recommended to parents and guardians, 
and introduced into the mixed domestic circle without hesitation or fear.” — 
North American. 

PARTNERS FOR LIFE: A Christmas Story. By Camilla 
Toulmin. With illustrations by John Absolon. 12mo., 
cloth, 75 cents; gilt, $1 ; paper covers, 38 cents. 

“ Another Christmas book by a lady ! and by one whose short tales and 
graceful and tender poetry are carrying her name into every household, and 
will extend her influence, both abroad and home ; for it is always exercised 
for good .” — Art Union. 

THE FOREST MINSTREL. A Collection of Original Poems, 
by Mrs. Lydia Jane Pierson. Edited by the Rev. B. S. 
Schenck. 1 vol. 12mo , cloth, 75 cents ; fancy, $1. 


OP VALUABLE BOOKS. 


3 


TRAVELS OVER THE TABLE LANDS AND CORDIL- 
LERAS OF MEIXICO; with observations upon the ReZi- 
^on. Political Institutions, Commerce, Agriculture and Civil- 
ization in Mexico; embracing accounts of the manner of 
mining and coining silver in that country. With an Appen- 
dix, comprising biographies of Emperor Don Augustin 
Iturbide and the Ex-President General Don Antonio Lopez 
De Santa Anna. By Albert M. Gilliam, late U. S. Consul 
at California, Mexico, With Maps and Plates. 1 vol. 8vo., 
cloth, $2. 

THE MEMOIRS OF MRS. ELIZABETH FRY, Edited by 
two of her daughters. 2 vols. 8vo., cloth, with portrait, 
$3 50 ; half morocco, $5. 

The record of the life and experience of such a labourer in the field of 

f enuine philanthropy and benevolence, is an invaluable memoir, and will 
oubtlees be so regarded by the Christian community. 

“ If the work could meet with a circulation equal to its deserving, it would 
find eager welcome in every family in Christendom. It afibrds a beautiful 
exemphfication of Christian character. Each page breathes fervent piety. 
Charity, the most Godlike of virtues, animates every word. The Memoir 
possesses peculiar value from the fact that it is prepared by two daughters 
of the deceased, who have taken great care, and manifested good judgment 
in their labour of love .” — City Item. 


TAYLOR (R. C.) STATISTICS OF COAL. The Geogra- 
phical and Geological distribution of Mineral Combustibles 
or Fossil Fuel, including, also. Notices and Localities of the 
various Mineral Bituminous Substances employed in Arts and 
Manufactures ; with maps, elegantly coloured, and diagrams ; 
embracing, from official reports of the great coal-producing 
countries, the respective amounts of their production, con- 
sumption, and commercial distribution in all parts of the 
world, together with their prices, tariffs, duties, and inter- 
national regulations. Accompanied by nearly four hundred 
statistical tables, and eleven hundred analyses of mineral 
combustibles, with incidental statements of the statistics of 
Iron manufactures, derived from authentic authorities. Pre- 
pared by Richard Cowling Taylor, Fellow of the Geologiced 
Society of London, member of the American Philosophical 
Society, &c. &c. Royal 8vo., cloth, $5 00. 

“It is a most invaluable work — a monument of industrious and careful 
research — a treasury — a very encyclopedia of coal, extending to all associated 
branches of information, worthy to rank with the most complete and tho- 
rough economic manuals with which the world is yet acquainted. There is 
no such work, in fact, on the subject of coal, in any language ; it is a inine 
of instruction, and a whole library of reference, which not coal and iron 
miners only, but statisticians and statesmen, will find worthy of their atten- 
tion .” — North American. 

“ It is indeed one of the most remarkable books of the day; exhibiting a 
vast amount of scientific knowledge and statistical information, and a labo- 
rious patience that is as praiseworthy as jt is xese." —Fittthurg Commercial, 


4 J. W. MOORE'S CATALOGUE 

MYSTERIES OF CITY LIFE; or, Stray Leaves from the 
World’s Book. Being a series of Tales, Sketches, Inci- 
dents, and Sermons, founded upon the Notes of a Home 
Missionary. By James Rees, author of “The Philadelphia 
Locksmith,” “ The Night Hawk Papers,” &c. I2mo., paper, 
75 cents ; cloth, #1 00. 

“The book is original in its conception and execution; its details carry 
such evidence of reality with them, that the reader can scarcely take them 
for fiction, and we much doubt if they are ; at the same time, the incidents 
are often so startling, and so vividly and painfully represented to the mind’s 
eye, that we could wish they were not facts — or rather, we could wish there 
were no such facts really existing in the deirker vistas of human life. The 
work is of that class which irresistibly captivates the attention ; and when 
the reader has once begun, he must go through it, impatient of all interrup- 
tion. But the best remains to be said : the book is unexceptionably moral, 
and altogether decorous. This, in the present state of literature, is a very 
rare kind of excellence, and the praise it calls forth, is the most valuable 
tribute that an author can receive.” — Peiinsylmnian. 

MEMOIRS OF THE PRETENDERS AND THEIR ADHE- 
RENTS. By J. H. Jesse. (Moore’s Select Library, Nos. 1 
and 2.) 2 vols. 18mo., paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $I 25. 

A SUMMER’S JAUNT ACROSS THE WATER; including 
Visits to England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Switzerland, 
Germany, Belgium, &.c. By J. Jay Smith. (Moore’s Select 
Library, Nos. 4 and 5.) 2 vols. 18mo., paper, $1 00 ; cloth, 
$1 50. 

MY OWN HOME AND FIRESIDE; being Illustrations of 
the Speculations of Martin Chuzzlewit & Co., among the 
“ Wenom of the Walley of Eden.” By Syr. Second Edi- 
tion. 1 vol. 12mo., paper, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents. 

“ From the mere glimpse we have taken of this book, it seems a strange, 
powerfully written work, and has sufficiently arrested our attention to lay it 
aside for an attentive and careful perusal.” — North American. 

“ It abounds in incident, wit, humour, and pathos, and will be remarkable 
among the many works now issuing from the pxesa." —Inquirer. 

GRAY’S ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD. Embellished with thirty-three spirited Illustrations, 
by R. S. Gilbert. 8vo., embossed cloth, gilt, $1 50; Turkey 
morocco, $3 00; coloured plates, embossed cloth, gilt, $2 00; 
coloured plates, Turkey morocco, $3 75. 

“ It is got up with a degree of excellence most creditable to the enterprise 
of the publisher, and which the celebrated poem well deserves. It is su- 
perbly printed, on the very best paper, and each leaf contains a verse of the 
poem, illustrated by a wood-cut in the highest style of the art, engraved by 
Gilbert, from designs by the most eminent English artists.” — Pennsylvanian. 

The poem itself is one of the most eluant English compositions now 
extant, and the style in which it is now offered to its admirers is highly 
creditable to the artists and publisher.” — Morning Post. ^ 


OP VALUABLE BOOKS. 


5 


SCENES AND ADVENTURES IN SPAIN, from 1835 to 
1840. By Poco Mas. (Moore’s Select Library, No. 3.) 
1 vol. 18mo., paper, 38 cents ; cloth, 63 cents. 

THE PROSE WORKS OF JOHN MILTON, with a Biogra- 
phical Introduction by R. W. Griswold. 2 vols. 8vo., cloth, 
$4 00. 

FIRST LESSONS IN FRENCH, by Miss Colman, illustrated 
with beautiful engravings. Square 16mo., embossed mus- 
lin, 50 cents. 

CHILD’S FIRST PRAYER BOOK. With ten splendid 
Plates, beautifully printed in colours. Second Edition. 1 
vol., 18mo., 75 cents. 

“ It is by far the most attractive book of the kind for children that we 
have seen. Every page differs in the stvie of printing and illustration. 
Different coloured inks, gold, &c., will please the eye of the young and 
lead them to look to the substance of the volume through its agreeable 
illustrations.” — North American. 

CHILD’S DRAWING BOOK OF OBJECTS: Studies from 
Still Life, for young pupils and drawing classes ; containing 
two hundred and eighty-eight objects. 4to., cloth, $2 00. 

SMITH’S JUVENILE DRAWING BOOK, containing the ru- 
diments of the Art, in a series of Progressive Lessons, 24 
plates of subjects, easily copied. Small 4to., cloth, 88 cents. 

HOUSEHOLD VERSES. By Bernard Barton. Embellished 
with a Vignette Title Page and Frontispiece. 12mo. Illu- 
minated covers, new edition, 50 cents ; cloth, gilt, 75 cents. 

“A very pretty edition of the eighth, and, we believe, last volume, the 
death-gift of the estimable Quaker Poet, a writer always a favourite with 
the public, ‘ from whom,’ as he said himself, ‘ he never met with aught but 
courtesy and kindness.’ ” — North American. 

” The poems of so sweet a minstrel, should have a place in every well- 
selected Library.” — Inquirer. 

REMAINS OF WILLIAM*^ S. GRAHAM ; With a Memoir. 
Edited by George Allen, Professor of Languages in the 
University of Pennsylvania. 1 vol. 12mo., with Portrait, 
boards, 75 cents ; cloth, gilt, 00. 

” This is a most attractive book in outward form, and the interest of its 
contents, in our esteem, does justice to its external appearance. It is the 
fresh wreath which love and friendship have intertwined to hang over the 
early grave of genius. It is not the mere record of a bright and sparkling 
mind, whose light has expired, but it is the memorial also of a warm heart, 
earnest in its devotion to the service of God and the good of man.”— J5anner 
of the Cross. 


6 j. w. Moore’s catalogue 

BUNYAN’S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. 1 vol. 12mo., 
cloth, 63 cents. 

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY, AND LETTERS OF CAROLINE 
FRY, the author of “ The Listener,” “ Christ our Law,” &c. 
12mo., cloth, 75 cents. 

“ It is a work that any religious parent might wish to place in the hands 
of his daughters, one that could scarce fail to leave a good and serious im- 
pression on the mind of a reader.” — Pittsburg Saturday Visitor. 

” This work, as the title imports, is an Autobiography of Mrs. Caroline 
Fry, a lady distinguished for her piety. As such it will be interesting to the 
Christian world, as it should be to every one.” — Savannah Daily Republican. 


COMMERCE OF THE PRAIRIES; or, the Journal of a 
Santa Fe Trader during Eight Expeditions across the 
Western Prairies, and a Residence of nearly nine years in 
Northern Mexico. By Josiah Gregg. 2 vols. 12mo., Maps 
and Plates, $1 50. 

” The volumes are illustrated with maps and engravings and are full of 
interest and information. A more agreeable or readable book has not been 
issued from the American press for years. The way-side incidents are quite 
exciting, while the reflections are sensible and sound.” — Inquirer. 

“ The popularity of these sketches may be inferred from the fact that the 
title page bears the imprint of the fourth edition. It is very unassuming in 
style, and at the same time graphic, exhibiting a phase of life peculiar to the 
regions it has undertaken to describe.” — NeaVs Gazette. 


WEEK AT GLENVILLE. By a Philadelphia lady. With 
numerous illustrations. Cloth, plain plates, 50 cents ; cloth, 
coloured plates, 63 cents; cloth, gilt edge, plain plates, 63 
cents ; cloth, gilt edge, coloured plates, 75 cents. 

‘•This little work will be a favourite with children, for whose especial 
benefit ft was written. The lady authoress has succeeded in writing a book 
which must interest the youthful mind, and instil into it the elements of pure 
morality.” — Inquirer. 

CHRISTIANITY: AND ITS RELATIONS TO POETRY 
AND PHILOSOPHY. 12mo., cloth, 50 cents. 


COE’S DRAWING- BOOK OF AMERICAN SCENERY. 
With 34 Views from Nature, with instructions for beginners 
in Landscape. 4to., cloth, SI 25. 

‘‘This is an excellent work, and greatly calculated to assist young 
people.’ ’ — Inquirer. 

FOWNE’S PRIZE ESSAY ON CHEMISTRY, as exempli- 
fying the wisdom and beneficence of God. 12mo., cloth 
50 cents. 


OP VALUABLE BOOKS. 


7 


AGRICULTURAL BOTANY ; an enumeration and descrip- 
tion of useful Plants and Weeds, which merit the notice, 
or require the attention, of American Agriculturists, By 
William Darlington, M. D. 1 vol, 12mo., cloth, $1 00. 

“ The volume is evidently the result of much labour and research, as well 
as of a very intimate acquaintance with the subject considered. It will be 
found of interest to the general reader, and invaluable to the young farmers 
of the United States.” — Inquirer. 


SMEE ON THE POTATO PLANT. 12mo., cloth, 50 cents. 


BIG ABEL AND LITTLE MANHATTAN. By C. Matthews. 
12mo., paper, 25 cents. 

LIFE IN CALIFORNIA. Plates, 12mo., cloth, $1 25. 


THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. Standard Edition. 
18mo., morocco, extra, $2 50; morocco, extra, bevelled 
boards, ^ 50. 

THE BOOK OF VISIONS : being a Transcript of the Record 
of the Secret Thoughts of a variety of individuals, while 
attending Church. 12mo., cloth, 50 cents. 


IN PRESS, 

AND WILL BE PUBLISHED IN A FEW DAYS, 

THE YOUNG MAN’S WAY TO VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND 
HAPPINESS. By the Rev. A. Atwood. 1 vol. 12mo,, cloth. 

ELLEN SEYMOUR ; or the Bud and the Flower. A Tale. 
By Mrs. Saville Shepherd, (formerly Anne Houldich,) 1 vol. 
12mo., cloth. 


8 


CATALOGUE OP VALUABLE BOOKS. 


IMPORTATION OF FOREIGN BOOKS. 


J. W. MOORE continues to import either old or new books 
in the different departments of Literature, by the single copy 
or in quantities, (on the most favourable terms, and with the 
greatest despatch,) for the Trade, Colleges, and Literary and 
Professional Gentlemen. If by steamer, in about thirty days ; 
if by packet, at a less expense, in about fifty or sixty days. 

Through his agent in London he is able to give the nrost 
careful attention to all orders from private individuals. Book- 
sellers, and Public Institutions. An order for a single volume 
will always receive the same attention as larger orders. 

ORDERS FORWARDED BY EVERY STEAMER, 

And if the books can be readily procured, they will be received 
by return steamer. 

FOREIGN PERIODICALS AND NEWSPAPERS. 

All the leading Periodicals and Newspapers of the. Continent 
supplied with punctuality and on the most reasonable terms. 
Subscribers at a distance will have their copies regularly 
mailed to their address. 

BOOKS IMPORTED TO' ORDER FROM LONDON, 
LEIPSIC, AND PARIS. 



A CATALOGUE 

OF A VERY EXTENSIVE COLLECTION OF 

STANDARD WORKS, 

IN EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, 

MOSTLY ENGLISH EDITIONS, 

NOW IN PRESS. 

It will be sent gratis on application, POST PAID. 

Country Booksellers supplied with all Foreign and American 
Publications at a small commission on cost, and all orders 
executed with demn-' ’ 


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